Because pink carpet isn't bad enough.
So yesterday, I had to work at 5. After work, around 10pm, I stopped at Sheetz to fill my little green machine's gas tank. I pulled up to pump number three, prepayed with some tip money, and hopped back in the car. Turn key. Beep. Nothing else. It was lightning out so of course my first thought was that my car had been struck while I prepayed. I mean, that happens all the time, right? Jeffrey wakes the baby up, drives the whole way to Sheetz (both of them in their jammies) and I hang out in front of pump three for about 45 minutes. Jeffrey's here, and we push the Escort into a parking space. In the rain. Some random good Samaritan walks up, says he's been a mechanic for two days (I shit you not) and would like to evaluate my dead car. Good Samaritan turns the key and says "dead battery." That's what happens when your car gets struck by lightning! DUH! Back inside Sheetz, I ask the biggest, grungiest looking guy there if he has some jumper cables, and for once my knack for stereotypes doesn't fail me. Of course he has jumper cables! But wait, I look familiar to him, didn't I work with him at Toftrees about four years ago? I did work at Toftrees four years ago. "You were a bitch." Why thank you, what's your name again? I still don't know, nor do I care. So we jump the car, give big guy asshole/big guy nice guy his cables back, and I drive the Ford five feet before it dies again. Super. But wait! There's a hippy pounding on my window! He wants to not only help, but dictate every move Jeffrey and I make. We're obviously two morons who have never pushed a car before, and without this guy screaming instructions in my face, I couldn't possibly manage to turn the steering wheel. Hippy and Jeffrey push the car to a side parking spot while I cower in the driver's seat. We're wet, and we've given up. I go back inside Sheetz to ask the jumper cable guy if he would be so kind as to avoid towing my car until morning. Well sure, that's fine with him, but first he wants to consult his manager. What a nice guy he turned out to be. Out comes Ms. Manager, "Oh. It's you." Indeed, it is me. I cannot for the life of me remember this chicks name, but I do remember her having pink hair in high school (see the theme? Pink). The look she gave me could only come from someone whom I had previously burned, but I honestly don't remember her. "We'll tow your car tomorrow," as she exits stage left into the office. I decide that I don't like that girl. As we're leaving, three non-English speaking persons in a van ask me how to get to the airport ("Airport? Airport?"). I gave the best directions that I could, and received a confused lip curl in return. Screw it, it's 11:30pm and my kid is sleeping in the car, so why don't we just drive past the airport, and yall can follow us ("You...[pointing] Me...[pointing] Follow...[waving] Me. You follow. Me."). I felt like I needed to do a good deed for the day to even out all the good will that had been shown to me in the past two hours. It totally gave me the warm and fuzzies, along with a huge case of fucking annoyed after I realized they only drive 15 miles per hour in that van. Stupendous.
Today. Jeffrey and I hurry to Sheetz, praying that pink-haired-chick turned bitchy-blonde didn't mean "tomorrow" as in 3am. The Escort was still there, and we pop the hood to remove the battery. Did you bring a wrench? I didn't bring a wrench. Sheetz does not sell a wrench. They do however sell dirty looks and stupid grudges, in case you're ever in the market for one of those. To Walmart, where we buy a two dollar wrench, back to Sheetz, back to Walmart for a sixty-eight dollar battery, and five, fifty cent rides in the kiddy arcade. I'm home. So is the Escort. Jeffrey suffered a cheap-wrench related injury, and I'm sure it will become infected by tomorrow. It's pink, and you know what pink means in my life.
Oh wait, isn't it wordless Wednesday?