Look, Tuesday was just the most fucked up day for me. Long-time readers of my nonsense blog may recall that July last year was when I realised I'd truly gone 'round the bend and was emotionally crippled. But anywho, been there, done that.
So Tuesday I'm driving to work when I have one of those sneezes - you know the kind I mean. The kind that seem to take forever to build up and you take like two good breaths before you sneeze so hard, you can feel your brain rattling round your skull. And as my head rocks forward, I'm greeted with a bang. I didn't sneeze that hard. (I'd like to make a side note that it is incredibly unfair that I was sneezing in the first place, I've been sniffly every morning for the last few weeks as I would normally be with hayfever - but it's winter. How is that fair??) No, while my brain was trying to cleverly escape through my nose, the car in front of me had stopped and I had bounced neatly off his tow bar. Oh yeah, this was a good start to the day. I might point out that this was morning traffic, not as bad as it normally is cause it's school holidays at the moment, so the cars were actually moving. We were slowly cruising along, only then suddenly we weren't.
To be honest with you, I still have no idea how it happened. It's just so bizarre! I think Lizzie and I may have discussed the dangers of sneezing and driving once, we most probably jinxed it. Aaaaanyway, the dude's car is perfectly fine as his tow bar cleverly protected him, but Martha is all bent out of shape. Not too bad, I think, Just a new bumper and number plate, bit of a bend out, she's good to go. So we exchange details, I try very hard not to make inappropriate comments about his name (one word: Batman) and decide to continue on to work. Now, this happened not even a km from where my dad had his epic bike crash last July and still quite close to home. Here is where we learn a vital lesson - if you're in an accident, pop the bonnet and have a look, even if it just looks like the bumper is a bit cracked.
I got about halfway to work before I realised the car didn't normally smell like burning. A bunch of lights didn't normally start flashing either. And, most importantly, the car generally didn't normally smoke lightly. As Martha abruptly died in the slightly-lighter-than-normal peak hour traffic, I flicked her into neutral and guided her to a painted island at a major intersection. Lesson number two - it pays to remember your brakes don't work in an automatic car when it's off.
I stayed in this spot for the next two hours, despite my valiant attempts to call a
Long story short, the towing company was absolutely useless. I kept periodically getting out to check on the engine - the old fashion way, by touching it, I've earned a nice, small burn on my hand for my trouble (I iz hardcore mechanic, I iz!) - and complained about Top Gear a whole lot, actually (and why shouldn't I - have you seen what they do those cars? And when they blow up on the side of the road, they just get back in and drive off again later! You have given me false perceptions of my cars' limits, Top Gear, you should be ashamed of yourselves!) By ten thirty, I'd spent over 40 minutes on the phone to various people and decided enough was enough - I consulted my dad over the wisdom of my decision and then coaxed Martha back to life. The insurance agency assessment centre was just ten minutes away and I was muttering encouraging words to the poor cooked thing all the way there. And we made it, huzzah!
Some paperwork and nonsense later, I'm standing there as the assessor evaluates the damage and feeling like crap. I can't even explain how bad I felt, and still feel. Martha's not even a year old, she was in absolutely perfect, perfect condition. You think you can't feel bad for an non-sentient object? Think again. I couldn't have felt worse if I had run over a dog. She doesn't deserve this. Which brings me to another point - perhaps I doom our vehicles by the names I give them? Jack is the car that constantly returns to life without fail, and now Martha is damaged and doomed to go off somewhere on her own by someone who just didn't treat her right. At least we should be safe with the other car, what could possibly fell the Antichrist? [We actually mostly refer to it as the Canyonero these days - but that catches fire! No more!]
With that tremendous fuck up to my name, I finally managed to get to work at 11. I haven't heard anything back from the mechanic yet, but fingers crossed no major engine damage was inflicted by the overheating. I said fingers crossed people! Cross them! Baaaah *headdesk* Sigh.
But if last July taught me anything, it's that things can always get worse (and having permanently reset my threshold for mania) so I'm not dwelling on any of it or getting upset anymore. No, no time for that sort of thing. Now don't mind me while I lock myself in my room for the rest of the month.
[Next year, I'm declaring July Remembrance Month, a religious period of the Church of Gallifrey to make it legal, and taking the time off work. Why tempt fate?]
Music: Mona Lisa - The All American Rejects