Again.

(un)Lucky is spending the evening at Chez Schwab again as he decided to suddenly stop running after one second every time I tried to start the ignition. The best part is that he decided to do this as I attempted to drive home from spending the day working at one of our outlying locations in a city nearly 30 miles from the apartment. And my roadside insurance only covers the first fifteen miles of towing. And I just gave him a f*ing full-service oil change this morning, goddamnit!! Bah humbug. But as I wanted (un)Lucky towed to the Les Schwab that I had his battery replaced at just a couple of weeks ago, I had to bite the bullet and agree to pay the mileage overage. But! After all was said and done and the one full hour (rush hour traffic...) of semi-awkward chit-chat with the tow truck driver was behind me, it seems somebody decided to throw poor little Ysabel at least a small bone and I didn't have to pay for any extra mileage after all. The driver said, "Well, it says here you're covered up to 27 miles, and this was 26..." So either the lady on the phone from my auto insurance or the nice young man with a history of alcoholism in his family which has made him able to drink an entire bottle of vodka by himself without feeling the after-effects the next morning so he doesn't like to drink much anymore because he doesn't want to turn out like his family and who grew up in Granite Falls but also lived for three years in Alaska and now is engaged to be married and has a 10 1/2 month old son who is almost the same size as his 4 year old stepson (oh, the things you talk about when stuck in a tow truck with a stranger...) gave me a bit of a break this evening. 

So now I just sit here in my apartment after taking a nice brisk and cool (Seriously, when is it going to get f*ing warm around here, damnit?!) walk home* dreading the phone call from the nice mechanic at Les Schwab** tomorrow morning to tell me that the cost to repair will, inevitably, equal exactly the amount that I just received last week from the government for filing my taxes. Isn't that how life works?  *sigh*

* The only unpleasant part: Walking home in my work shoes. I believe the words muttered under my breath with each step were, "Ooh, my bunion!"

** Who, unbeknownst to me until after it was too late, stayed past closing time to try and help me out with (un)Lucky because I think the tow truck driver and I got there literally a minute after they had already closed, and I thought I still had an hour.

ps. Either I have finally gone insane or I really am hearing the faint sounds of first-year clarinet playing through the walls of my apartment building. Methinks it is time I skulk through the halls and figure out which apartment it is coming out of so as to slyly slip one of my business cards under their door...