Thank God at least it’s not one of mine this time.
Of course that doesn’t mean I’m not eyeball deep in it though.
First it was the Bronco, then The Wifely Unit’s hoopty, now The Kid’s little rig shit the bed.
At the usual worst time possible.
He has a job stocking Pepsi products in all the major stores in the area and he has to leave for work at like 4 in the morning.
It was a cold and windy bitch around here last night, we had snow flurries and wind gusts up to about forty miles an hour at least. It was blowing hard enough that when I went out to have a smoke last night, it sounded like a jet engine howling as the wind roared over the mountains to the East.
He got out to his rig to take off and got the oh so familiar Click Click Click sound we are all know and dread.
He called his boss, who didn’t give a flying fuck nor offered any help in any way and had to walk four miles to the store he was to stock.
Because he is of that Millenial Generation, he did so wearing shorts, in 24 degree weather.
When he got done with that store, instead of calling us and letting us know what the deal was, he walked another four miles to another store and stocked that one.
Then he called us.
We are only ten minutes away.
So I had to go pick him up and take him home, where I tried to jump start his 2016 Hyundai.
No love. I can hear the starter engaging and trying to turn the engine over but it ain’t happening. Of course he is parked on the side of a fairly busy street with other cars in front and behind, on a slight hill. While I was screwing around with the maddening process of calling for a tow that turned into a texting nightmare, the one behind him pulled out and left so I had him coast it back away from the one in front of him, trying to get it easier to hook up to.
More texting bullshit, you can’t just call and talk to someone, that would be too easy.
Then in the middle of all of that, I am trying to Google the nearest repair shop to get an address to tow it to.
Fucking PITA and on top of all of that shit, the wife is texting me with her advice so I am trying to juggle five fucking things at once on my phone.
Unsurprising to no one and because I obviously wasn’t having quite enough fun yet, somehow in the middle of all of this activity I managed to get disconnected from the insurance text stream asking me a shit ton of questions and when I got back to that screen all I see is a 404 message.
Fuck me running, I had to start that shit all over again.
Then, even though The Kid is on our insurance, he must have his own policy because when I punched in my policy number, it didn’t like that.
I yell at him to get his insurance card, punch in that policy number and move on to the next question. In the mean time while I have my head down concentrating on my phone, more cars come and go and his car is trapped again. Thankfully he was smart enough to ask the one behind him to move before they got out and left so I had him push it back even farther into a No Parking zone so the stupid motherfuckers he has for neighbors can’t trap him in again.
I finally got all of the shit finished on my phone except for the Wifely Unit who I had put on ignore so I could concentrate.
I informed her of what was going on, had The Kid make sure the key was in the dead fucker and left so I could come home and eat.
It was ready as I was leaving of course.
Six blocks from the house the phone starts going off so I had to pull over and talk to the Tow Company, got them handled and drove home the rest of the way. Then I tried to call the repair shop I had it towed to and leave a message as this is Sunday and they ain’t open.
Yeah right, their answering mailbox is full.
I told The Kid to call them in the morning, tell them that it wouldn’t turn over then shut his mouth. I ain’t sure if it’s the starter or the battery so let them diagnose it. Don’t even mention anything about a starter because if it’s just a battery issue they will try to bend you over for both since you are already mentally prepared for it.
All in all a Giant Pain In The Fucking Ass to deal with, as usual.
After this, on top of all of the other bullshit I have had to deal with vehicle wise this past week, the Gods of Internal Combustion can go fuck themselves silly as far as I am concerned.
Get the fuck off my back ya sonsabitches.