Car Rescue

So, I thought about writing a venting piece about my frustration with cars. As my dad’s car is being dicked around by a mechanic, which forces me to be handicapped without a car, as he needs mine to transport to work, I had a bone to pick with the fact that minor automobile damages turn into a global crisis. After writing a few thoughts, I dumped the idea. I figured that this isn’t important enough to bitch about.

This morning, I have some fucking things to gripe about.

I set myself in the passenger seat, awaiting for another drop-off to school in my car. Completely dumbfounded, my dad screeches “You got to be kidding me!!!” I turn back, preparing for god knows what. I laid my eyes on a golf ball-sized hole in the rear windshield, with streams and streams of cracks surrounding it.

Is this bad luck, or is this a spanking from the devil?

I have never seen my dad with quite this level of distraught. I was right there in that ballpark, but only on the muted setting. He was so much of a daredevil that he drove me halfway to school, and I would walk the rest of the way. For readership purposes, I guess I did a good job holding off this story for another day! The plot thickened within 12 hours!!

The main gist of my original reflection was that I find it appalling that we put ourselves through so much grief when we receive dents and cracked glass on our purchased property that is a car. When reporting that yourself or someone close was involved in a car accident to a friend, we always proclaim, “it’s alright, no one got hurt.” I call bullshit on that. We all mourn as though someone did get hurt. Through the insurance agents crawling up our ass, mechanics trying to fuck you over, and our everyday demand for transportation, we have no choice but to treat a faulty $100 part on a $20,000 machine as a tragedy. No matter what, there will always be this grieving. In that case, I almost wish someone would get physically injured in order to justify that mourning. Is that dark? Yeah, probably, but I can hardly live with these fucking products of an assembly line affecting everyone’s life so much.

As I write this in my free block in school, this nonsense will be able to rinse itself away once and a while. This is exactly why I’m grateful for school. It’s its own little world that is void from this kind of bullshit. Once I get picked up by my mother, who has the last car standing in the Damage Pick’em Pool, I’m diving head first into the car depression outhouse.

(P.S: I have absolutely no clue how the windshield got cracked. This kind of mystery is the reason why people follow religion.)