If everything goes according to Plan, God will force me to spend $185 by midnight tonight on some wholly avoidable product or service.
It all started last Tuesday, 30 minutes before my haircut appointment (I have more respect for my hair than a Supercuts, and just enough man juice to withstand metrosexual salon jokes). I spent all of Tuesday running errands and getting the site ready for somewhat of a week-long leave of absence as I prepared to run wild in NYC. But somehow, up to 3pm, things hadn't really been going my way. You know, one of those days where you run into problem after problem, fixing things that should've worked in the first place, and coming out wondering if any forward progress was even achieved.
But the haircut would be my magical turnaround. I had the appointment, and something would get done (good haircuts tend to inspire confidence in other activities as well). I went downstairs to the parking garage to leave, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature puncture and one flat back right tire. With a futile breath and so little hot air, I knew in a moment it was time for the spare. More rapid than mechanics, my trunk tools they came, and I jacked, and I screwed, and I screamed things profane: “Fuck you mother fucker! You cunt-licking spare! On lug nuts! On donuts! No time to explain! To the top of the city! For the top of my head! Now drive away! Drive away! Goddammit don't stall!” (The last joke works because it's a 5-speed.)
Back story short, I made it in time, which leads me to the real story, where I stop with the rhyme.
So Wednesday morning, just hours before my flight to NYC, I had to run one last errand. On the way back, I hit a pot hole. Guess what type of tire takes offense to imperfections in the road? Correct. And if there's one ugly noise you never want to hear from your car, it's the sound of driving on a flat spare tire. Might as well have pulled over and replaced it with a metal Kleenex box.
But I didn't. I turned up the radio and kept driving, kind of like the time I hit a kid in a school crosswalk, accidentally dragging him screaming like a human ragdoll for a good two blocks. I made it home by the grace of a strong axle, and parked my newly beat up piece of shit Accord just in time to catch my plane (which fortunately didn't have the same types of problems).
Fast forward to yesterday. I borrowed my friend Sam's car during the day to go buy a new tire to bring back and put on my car (still sitting in the parking garage in case your memory is less than one paragraph). I dropped her off at a salon, which gave me a good 3-hour tire-shopping window. So first, I drove home to find a tire place online. I parked her car on the street out front, and came back downstairs with directions to Firestone.
Then God decided to initialize His plan. *Sound of buttons being pushed in Heaven*
I started backing up the 15 feet necessary to pull into the parking garage to pick up my old flat tire, when “RIIIIIIIPPPP!!!” That's right folks, I slashed HER tire on a metal piece sticking out of the curb. Same tire, back right…you know, because God obviously prefers symmetry in nature.
Now, I've always been a huge fan of irony, but there comes a point when too much is enough. I had it coming.
So I pull THIS newly beaten up Audi into the garage and park in someone's space next to me. Time for the spare. Germans don't make it easy to change tires, but I managed to get it jacked up and all the lug nuts off. Then a funny (non-comedy style) thing happened: the flat tire wouldn't come off. This piece of shit wouldn't budge. After kicking and screaming (more profanities), and asking an equally baffled neighbor for help, I gave up, pulled the car out into the street, and called a tow truck.
Tow truck arrives, says they've seen this kinda thing before, and promptly removes the tire, as if I was one kick away from doing it myself in the parking garage. “$50 anyway please.” No thanks. “$50 mandatory, we're burly mechanics who know where your wallet is” (back pocket apparently isn't fooling anyone). Fuck you, paid them.
Two new tires: $135.
Total cost of fucking up over and over: $185.
Writing about the experience in my blog: Basically, $185
Now you're probably thinking, “There must be something else that cost $185 too, right?” And the answer is yes, because I'm not fooling anyone but myself anymore.
The day before (this past Tuesday), I arrived at JFK airport to come back to Atlanta. I'm in line at Independence Air, when I realized the flight was at 4:55pm instead of 4:30pm. Hmmm… I pulled out my itinerary and read it aloud to myself: “Tuesday, 16 Aug 05. Depart Atlanta, GA (ATL), Arrive New York-Kennedy, NY (JFK)” WELL ISN'T THAT STRANGE! I THOUGHT I WAS ALREADY IN NEW YORK!
That's right folks, I booked two one-way flights in the same direction. This was made possible by two things: 1) I booked the flights online 5 days apart, and 2) I recently lost a battle with Alzheimer's and stupidity.
One new one-way ticket: $162
Airport and government regulation fees: $23
Total cost of fucking up royally: $185 and a mini-courtjester dance
Writing about the experience in my blog: Painful
The only time I came close to matching a travel error of this ridiculous proportion was the time when I booked a flight to one island on the Bahamas, and a hotel on another island in the Bahamas. Fortunately I caught that one a week in advance after looking at a map to find out travel time from the airport to the hotel (approximately 6 days by dinghy).
But, as God once said via Mother Nature: When it rains, it pours.
Which is why in the last two days the following has happened as well:
-My cell phone stopped working for a night when I was meeting up and coordinating a night out for 6 people (including Beech, who's in Atlanta right now).
-My A/C broke. It's currently 95 degrees outside during the day.
-The wireless aircard on my laptop snapped in half.
-I got a $185 speeding ticket on the interstate.
No wait, that's going to happen by midnight.
On a positive note, my haircut from last Tuesday has finally grown out to the point where I really like it. It always seems to take about a week for a haircut to really settle in and grow on you. (That joke reminds me of one of my favorite columns Mikey wrote.)
But hey, who asked for the bright side anyway? When you're already wet, what's another few inches of rain?