Member-only story
DRIVING MISS CRAZY
WIP
What does that mean?
I bashed my car against my neighbor’s parked car the other day.
I’d just gotten it serviced! It was a nicely serviced car and was humming along well, even though it was raining and the streets were wet.
Maybe it was running a little too well. It was more powerful than I was used to. Before service, while driving, I felt as if the handbrake was on when it wasn’t.
I was happy to have the car back after a hiatus of two days.
I was late for a workout appointment with my personal trainer. I looked at the clock on the dashboard, and clicked my tongue with annoyance. The time it showed was around 1:23 pm — when it was around eight in the morning.
I was loath to raise my hand and look at the time on my Apple Watch, which often needs a nudge from my other hand to reveal the time.
I was madder at Honda than Apple.
Why do they have to mess up the clock when they service the car?
Maybe I wouldn’t have bashed the car if the clock had been okay. I wouldn’t have been as annoyed if I knew what time it was.
Yes, I have a very tiny comfort zone, I know. All the clocks I own should tell the correct time, all the time.
Or else.
Long story short, I bashed the car.
One of my other neighbors came in to rescue my car from further scratching. I was already outside my car, looking at the damage.
He got into the driver’s seat and tried to get my car moving, but was unfamiliar with the gear panel of my automatic car and got out as quickly as he got in.
There was something very satisfying about having my neighbor’s hulky bulk enter my car, take the seat back to fit his frame, and then exit the car because he couldn’t deal with the automatic gear panel.
I’m petty that way. The fella just wanted to help, he wasn’t being a mansplainer, but I found it satisfying anyway.
The neighbor whose car I’d bashed drove his car away from the area of contact of our cars and I raced away to my all-important workout. I…
