Meepers Creepers Go VaroooBOOM!

 The Story . . .

Thursday. 10:19 pm. 56 degrees.  Scattered showers -- ending a week-long torrential rainfall. Warning: flash flooding in various areas; road conditions: wet.  Still a beautiful night. Not too cold, not too warm. The past hour saw a passing rain cloud which brought a cool breeze to the warm spring air. It's the type of night in which C___ considers leaving work early (as there's no work to be done) and going home to spend a comfortable evening with a cigar and a glass of wine, hopefully ending the night within the comfortable embrace of his girlfriend's arms -- who, as of late, has witnessed an embrace of fate all her own. It doesn't take much dileberation valuing a comfortable night over a few hours of pay for no work.  Ergo, C___ logs of his station, packs up his things, says goodbye to one or two other employees -- who are weighing their own pros and cons for a mere few hours of pay for no work -- and leaves. With a perk smile upon his face he waves goodbye to the front-desk security guard. Then he strides out into the cool night and prepares to head home.

It's a quick drive, no more than 30 - 35 minutes (tops), and before he sets out he tosses on a classic album (Immortal - Sons of Northern Darkness) and drives off. The roads are wet, a few slick-spots seem possible, but overall it's a relatively easy commute. Not too many cars on the road. A few other drivers, most likely retiring for the evening after a day of work or going home after a relaxing evening with friends. C___ can't help but notice the soaring gas prices these days, but he smiles. The expense of gas is of little to no concern for him. After all, he recently upgraded from having no car -- which briefly followed an average run with a piece of s___ car -- to what is now a fuel-efficient car. A 2008 Honda Fit which gets 30-34 miles to the gallon (city-highway) and rides as smooth as BOOM!

From the other lane: a smack, a pop. The other driver failing to observe the rules of the road attempts a left hand turn from the opposing direction. Unknowingly, unintentionally, unintelligently, she accidentally failed to yield and crossed C___'s lane. The collision isn't grave . . . thankfully. Everyone is fine. A little shaken and nervous, but no loss of limbs. Both parties step out, share a cigarette (though only in act), and patiently wait for the police to show up and begin taking notes before issuing citations and permitting them all to leave the scene.

It doesn't take long. Not long at all. The police arrived . . . promptly. And did their thing . . . promptly. And just as his night had began, C___ was back in his car enjoying the evening; or rather, enjoying it the best that he could with a constant RaaaTLinG from the engine while the hazard-lights repetitiously blink -- alerting the other drivers that this particular individual is driving f___ing slow for a reason! Said reason being, of course, that it's a nice night and one should not waste one second of it.

He does not fret. Not one bit. What has happened, happened. He could cry. He could complain. Or he could, instead, continue dreaming about a fine cigar, a fine glass of wine and a fine woman. So he drives. And he smiles. And he rolls the window down, enjoying the cool breeze on the warm spring air while simultaneously airing out the slight odor of melting rubber coming from an over-heating engine.

The Facts . . .


As of late the fates have saw fit to deliver onto me motor-vehicular hardships. Without all the mundane details (which really do nothing other than seek sympathy), the facts are that my new car seems prone to mishaps. What was once affectionally nicknamed Meepers Creepers is now undergoing a revision (in both name as well as body). I'm thinking of naming her The Curse. I mean, seriously . . . just look! 





So, the collision . . .

 

A month or so ago someone dinged my read drver-side door (presumably with their car door) . . .





To top it all off, someone spit on my car (presumably) . . .