I Almost Exploded//Got Burnt Alive

In honor of Fearless Friday, I am gonna go ahead and nominate myself. Because the world is out to get me and it’s Friday the 13th.

I don’t know how to put this lightly, but my car caught fire yesterday. I’m not gonna sugar coat it, I almost died. The mechanic who saw the burnt up fuse box inside the hood of my car told me I was “lucky to be alive.”

What can I say? One moment you’re sitting at a shitty valley Car Wash during your lunch break innocently texting your best friend about her farts and the next second you’re walking out of the office to move your street parked car. You see it from afar, realize the headlights are on for no reason and you are 100% fucked. You then maybe turn your car keys to try to start the car and it makes the desperate clicking sounds of a tired battery. At this point, you’re sweating because you wore inappropriate clothes for the Southern California climate… You realize you are a sheltered white girl from the Midwest. You realize you know nothing about car maintenance. You don’t even know how to spell maintenance without using spell check.

Luckily, I looked like a damsel in distress. Even though I was wearing an oversized men’s thermal shirt and Chuck Taylors. A vaguely attractive man in his mid-thirties pulls over in his massive white pick-up truck to help me jump my piece of shit car. He just so happens to be a professional electrician. This sounds like the start to a bad porno. Sorry to disappoint, he was a little too short and it didn’t go in that direction.

He put the jumper cables on my car, sparks flew up… He said my car smelled like shit. Good thing I can’t smell!?!?!?! He told me the battery isn’t the problem. In his professional electrician opinion, I was fucked.

Triple A showed up this morning at my place of work. (I have one of those now, I have a job.) This time they think THEY can jump start it. He opens the hood of the car.

“Wow, this smells like shit!”

Thanks bro. He asks me to have a sniff.

“I can’t smell. Uh, I… I don’t have one-” I offer

“Nah don’t worry it’s nothing crazy just stick your face down in there.”

“Sir, I was born without a sense of smell.” I reiterate

He laughs his ass off.

He fucks around with various car parts that I don’t recognize, eventually frees open what I now know as the “FUSE BOX.” It’s where all the electrical shit in your car goes down. When he opens it up, we quickly discover that part of it was burnt to a crisp. Literally fried the fuck up.

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(IMAGE OF THE INFAMOUS FUSE BOX)

“This shit caught fire!” He essentially says “You’re lucky the whole car didn’t explode.”

Am I lucky sir? Am I lucky that the entire car didn’t explode? Because part of me thinks the car should have exploded and left me with third degree burns… I’d be an unrecognizable husk of a person and I’d finally have to discover my “inner beauty” and stop living off the benefits of being a young attractive white woman. Maybe, sir, the car exploding would have been the best thing to ever happen to me.

So we’ve established that I’m lucky to be alive, my car is fucked, and neither Mediocre Looking Electrician Bystander nor Triple A Man can do a thing to help me. Time to get the Tow Truck Man.

Tow Truck Man has to disassemble my gear shifting mechanisms so that he can put the car into neutral to get it onto the tow truck and to the shop. Tow Truck Man caught me taking a picture of him for Snapchat and definitely thinks I’m into him. I must reek of pheromones.

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So I left my car in the care of a complete stranger who vowed to take it to the auto repair shop. I called the auto shop to see if they got my car, because I can’t go there because I am a WORKING CLASS CITIZEN. The men at the shop laughed their asses off and told me they’d need to do at least “15o dollars worth of labor to figure out what the fuck is wrong with it” and that they’ll have to “tear shit apart.”

I’ll tell you what, I just got settled into my new apartment on Wednesday. I never even SAW my apartment yesterday because I am trapped in the San Fernando Valley of Death and Despair. My cat thinks I’ve abandoned him. I have bruises all over my body from moving furniture (and various other extracurricular activities.) I look like a giant parasitic worm attached itself to my anus and is sucking out every cell of my shit covered soul, little by little, growing stronger with each bit of me it consumes. It continues to use that fecal power to destroy my life. IN ADDITION to eating my soul via my butt.

I’m just kidding. But I think it’s pretty hilarious that my car caught fire and I didn’t die. Big shout out to David Valbuena for rescuing me from the valley today. Still no word on my car repairs. But the good news is that my dad did some research and found out that there were some factory recalls because the Buick LaCrosse caught fire and killed people a few times. Might have been a good thing to know. I’ve been driving around a fucking ticking time bomb for the last 3 years. Glad that the lord himself and satan almighty chose Friday the 13th of 2016 to attempt murder. There is a GOOD CHANCE my car is UNSALVAGEABLE. Which is super convenient considering I spent a good chunk of change that I don’t have repairing it last month.

In summary, who wants to help me buy a new car? I’ll let you pet my poopy death worm.

 

 

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