Do you see the object (nee…iniquitous, demonic totem) beneath this sentence?
That is a car battery…my new object of hate. Anathema’s altar!
On Tuesday, my entire evening was ruined when (1) my car battery decided to die a miserably unexpected death, and (2) two boosts were required to get me home.
My five year old beauty…nothing (knock on formica) has ever gone wrong. Except the battery. Vile box of hellish energy storage. If only it had any energy to store! Why now? Did the first mildly cold day signal the activation of some secret let’s-rankle-and-gall-the-owner software?
Ignoring the rapid and uncontrollable twitch in my right eye, off I went to the Crappy Tire (nee…Canadian Tire, for those of you hiding under a particularly large boulder) near my home…and they were only too happy to oblige with a replacement. In fact, they were ready to do it then and there…
…if only they had my battery IN STOCK!
Off I went on another trek down the expressway, to a more distant (but better stocked) Crappy Tire…and two hours (and over $100 later), my car was functioning once more. At that point, my blood pressure finally stabilized just under the overload threshold.
A single car battery transformed what was going to be a relaxing evening into a repugnant miasma of stress, irritation, and shot nerves. Never mind the $100+ I will never get back. So much for buying that new Douglas Coupland novel THIS week…
Next time, karma could pick a more interesting way to distrupt my life. A sledgehammer to the head couldn’t possibly be any worse than the foul, wretched, loathsome evening that was this past Tuesday night.
We now return you to your usually-rant-free evening…
