Because while rants are fun, the whole story is way worse.
At seven this morning, I was awoken, as planned, by my mother. This is because last night, as I was leaving little_serenity 's house, I discovered that my car had died. A little jump was all it took to get me home, but this isn't the first time the battery has run down for no apparent reason, so I wanted to make sure that I was awake and ready to tackle the problem if necessary.
And ohhhhh was it necessary.
So I awaken to discover that we none of us can actually get into my car; the alarm won't disarm and the doors won't unlock. Frustrated but still hopeful, I throw my hair up and hop into Mom's car, so that I can drive it back home to use it for jumping after I drop her off.
(This actually leads to a rather pleasant interlude, during which I determine that a 15 minute detour at the beach will make my car no less dead; and then proceed to chase the water and listen to waves crash upon thousands of small stones, which makes a noise not unlike a very large, very soothing rainmaker. I highly recommend it.)
I arrive home, eat a small breakfast of leftover Armenian food and an apple, and start tackling the car issue. In retrospect, I should've just thrown rocks at it and hid my head under a pillow; it would've been as effective.
I start by making multiple phone calls, to my mother, to my uncle the mechanic, and to my father in St. Louis. NOBODY picks up. Alright then, I'll start by myself. I proceed to unlock my car manually, thereby setting off the alarm. Oh well, I think, not too bad, I'll figure out how to shut it off eventually. Try to start the car, just in case we've all been particularly daft this morning, but alas, it is to no avail; the lights light up and the car alarm goes off, but the engine doesn't even try to turn over. Pop the trunk, set off the alarm again, get my jumper cables, alright. So far, so good.
Dad calls me back, and we figure out that the most likely culprit is the battery, which probably needs to be replaced. This is, believe it or not, good news; it means that all I need is a relatively affordable battery instead of painfully marked-up mechanical work. Mom also calls back, and I inform her of my adventures. Okay.
Go back outside to start trying to jump my car, which I hope will give the alarm system enough juice to turn off. I then realize that one of the handles on my jumper cables has lost its rubber cover, leading to a frantic search for dishwashing gloves. Of course, no one in my house actually DOES dishes anymore, so we don't have any. I have to rely on Mom's ancient gardening gloves, which may or may not have a rubber-like substance coating them. I say may or may not, because by this point in their lifespan, the "rubber" has hardened to the consistency of stale caramel, making it nearly impossible to pick up the jumper cables, much less attach them, but I proceed anyway, because better frustration than electrocution!
Pop the hood (Alarm #4, for those of you keeping score), attach the cables, start up Mom's car. After a few minutes, I go over to try and start mine, in the hopes that I can get it running well enough to get it to Sears to buy an new battery. Set the alarm off upon entering the car, and then again when trying to start it. Nothing. Not even a feeble rumble.
Oh, did I fail to mention there were some city workers doing a bit of maintenance directly in front of my house this entire time? And that they were staring at the idiot girl who couldn't turn her car alarm off? Yeah.
A number of tries later, my car is still just as dead as before. I am, it must be said, a little frustrated at this point. I now retry calling my Uncle Michael, the mechanic, and together we realize the horrible horrible truth:
When I parked my car the night before, I had locked it with the anti-theft car alarm. The battery had then run down, but not enough to disable the alarm. Now, the alarm was preventing the car from being started, because it was assuming I was trying to steal it.
Ugh.
His final suggestion on how to override the alarm finds the two cars hooked up, one running, and me halfway through my car window, attempting to start the car without setting off the alarm by opening the door. As I turn the key, ass hanging out the window, the alarm sounds one. Final. Time.
aaaaauuuugghhhhjdlkajjlk;eio!!!1!
At this point, I am near to tears of frustration. Cars and mechanics are not my forte; I hate being the archetypal girly-girl who doesn't know the inner workings of my transportation, but there we have it. And you have to understand, this is not just me being pissy that I don't have my own car, and boo hoo I have to use Mom's to run to the mall now (::pout::). I've got work in the morning. My office just lost 20% of its workforce; I MUST be there tomorrow. But Mom works in Ventura, and I in Encino, and both are 30 miles away from my home, which rests in the center of this messed up solar system of screw-ed-ness. There is almost no conceivable way that me, Mom, and my brothers can all get where we need to go using one car. My car MUST be fixed, and crying will solve nothing. I collapse on the couch with Jack (our dog) and eat a pudding cup for lunch and watch a half-hour of a History channel special about the presidents, attempting to compose myself.
I then proceed to have a number of phone calls with my mother, again, to find out where the nearest service station is, with the service station to make sure they can disarm my car, and with AAA, finally, to get this motherfucker towed. The AAA lady assures me the tow truck will be there by 12:12. Taking this with a pound of salt, I gather my things and sit on top of Mom's car, knitting in the warm sunshine and watching for the car. As of this point, the issue is almost entirely out of my hands, which feels nice.
The tow truck pulls up 25 minutes late, but the driver is very nice, so I forgive him almost immediately. He quickly hooks everything up, and we are off! The drive passes in near-to-complete silence, for which I am thanking those nameless deities I'm not sure I believe in. He leaves me, 10 minutes later, in the apparently capable hands of the guy in the garage at Sears.
And here is where I get REALLY pissed.
Within 15 minutes, the decidedly cute mechanic guy determines that something has happened with my alarm system; either something there has shorted out or my remote has died, but the ONLY PROBLEM I really have is that the alarm system is overriding my starter. He locates the alarm box, removes two fuses, and then starts the car. HE STARTS THE FUCKING CAR. HE STAAAARRRTS IT.
FUUUUUUUCK.
Hell, he even goes so far as to check my battery, which is apparently fine and completely operational. So now I am left standing, completely embarassed, in front of Cute Mechanic and a functioning car that is ready to be driven away. All he says is that if I can get a replacement remote, he'll put the fuses back in the and the alarm system will be normal again, and then he wishes me luck and a good day and walks back inside.
...
...I don't...I can't even...what.
So, long story short, I spent 7 hours trying to resolve a problem that was COMPLETELY NONEXISTENT.
WHOOP-DEE-FUCKIN'-DO.
And ohhhhh was it necessary.
So I awaken to discover that we none of us can actually get into my car; the alarm won't disarm and the doors won't unlock. Frustrated but still hopeful, I throw my hair up and hop into Mom's car, so that I can drive it back home to use it for jumping after I drop her off.
(This actually leads to a rather pleasant interlude, during which I determine that a 15 minute detour at the beach will make my car no less dead; and then proceed to chase the water and listen to waves crash upon thousands of small stones, which makes a noise not unlike a very large, very soothing rainmaker. I highly recommend it.)
I arrive home, eat a small breakfast of leftover Armenian food and an apple, and start tackling the car issue. In retrospect, I should've just thrown rocks at it and hid my head under a pillow; it would've been as effective.
I start by making multiple phone calls, to my mother, to my uncle the mechanic, and to my father in St. Louis. NOBODY picks up. Alright then, I'll start by myself. I proceed to unlock my car manually, thereby setting off the alarm. Oh well, I think, not too bad, I'll figure out how to shut it off eventually. Try to start the car, just in case we've all been particularly daft this morning, but alas, it is to no avail; the lights light up and the car alarm goes off, but the engine doesn't even try to turn over. Pop the trunk, set off the alarm again, get my jumper cables, alright. So far, so good.
Dad calls me back, and we figure out that the most likely culprit is the battery, which probably needs to be replaced. This is, believe it or not, good news; it means that all I need is a relatively affordable battery instead of painfully marked-up mechanical work. Mom also calls back, and I inform her of my adventures. Okay.
Go back outside to start trying to jump my car, which I hope will give the alarm system enough juice to turn off. I then realize that one of the handles on my jumper cables has lost its rubber cover, leading to a frantic search for dishwashing gloves. Of course, no one in my house actually DOES dishes anymore, so we don't have any. I have to rely on Mom's ancient gardening gloves, which may or may not have a rubber-like substance coating them. I say may or may not, because by this point in their lifespan, the "rubber" has hardened to the consistency of stale caramel, making it nearly impossible to pick up the jumper cables, much less attach them, but I proceed anyway, because better frustration than electrocution!
Pop the hood (Alarm #4, for those of you keeping score), attach the cables, start up Mom's car. After a few minutes, I go over to try and start mine, in the hopes that I can get it running well enough to get it to Sears to buy an new battery. Set the alarm off upon entering the car, and then again when trying to start it. Nothing. Not even a feeble rumble.
Oh, did I fail to mention there were some city workers doing a bit of maintenance directly in front of my house this entire time? And that they were staring at the idiot girl who couldn't turn her car alarm off? Yeah.
A number of tries later, my car is still just as dead as before. I am, it must be said, a little frustrated at this point. I now retry calling my Uncle Michael, the mechanic, and together we realize the horrible horrible truth:
When I parked my car the night before, I had locked it with the anti-theft car alarm. The battery had then run down, but not enough to disable the alarm. Now, the alarm was preventing the car from being started, because it was assuming I was trying to steal it.
Ugh.
His final suggestion on how to override the alarm finds the two cars hooked up, one running, and me halfway through my car window, attempting to start the car without setting off the alarm by opening the door. As I turn the key, ass hanging out the window, the alarm sounds one. Final. Time.
aaaaauuuugghhhhjdlkajjlk;eio!!!1!
At this point, I am near to tears of frustration. Cars and mechanics are not my forte; I hate being the archetypal girly-girl who doesn't know the inner workings of my transportation, but there we have it. And you have to understand, this is not just me being pissy that I don't have my own car, and boo hoo I have to use Mom's to run to the mall now (::pout::). I've got work in the morning. My office just lost 20% of its workforce; I MUST be there tomorrow. But Mom works in Ventura, and I in Encino, and both are 30 miles away from my home, which rests in the center of this messed up solar system of screw-ed-ness. There is almost no conceivable way that me, Mom, and my brothers can all get where we need to go using one car. My car MUST be fixed, and crying will solve nothing. I collapse on the couch with Jack (our dog) and eat a pudding cup for lunch and watch a half-hour of a History channel special about the presidents, attempting to compose myself.
I then proceed to have a number of phone calls with my mother, again, to find out where the nearest service station is, with the service station to make sure they can disarm my car, and with AAA, finally, to get this motherfucker towed. The AAA lady assures me the tow truck will be there by 12:12. Taking this with a pound of salt, I gather my things and sit on top of Mom's car, knitting in the warm sunshine and watching for the car. As of this point, the issue is almost entirely out of my hands, which feels nice.
The tow truck pulls up 25 minutes late, but the driver is very nice, so I forgive him almost immediately. He quickly hooks everything up, and we are off! The drive passes in near-to-complete silence, for which I am thanking those nameless deities I'm not sure I believe in. He leaves me, 10 minutes later, in the apparently capable hands of the guy in the garage at Sears.
And here is where I get REALLY pissed.
Within 15 minutes, the decidedly cute mechanic guy determines that something has happened with my alarm system; either something there has shorted out or my remote has died, but the ONLY PROBLEM I really have is that the alarm system is overriding my starter. He locates the alarm box, removes two fuses, and then starts the car. HE STARTS THE FUCKING CAR. HE STAAAARRRTS IT.
FUUUUUUUCK.
Hell, he even goes so far as to check my battery, which is apparently fine and completely operational. So now I am left standing, completely embarassed, in front of Cute Mechanic and a functioning car that is ready to be driven away. All he says is that if I can get a replacement remote, he'll put the fuses back in the and the alarm system will be normal again, and then he wishes me luck and a good day and walks back inside.
...
...I don't...I can't even...what.
So, long story short, I spent 7 hours trying to resolve a problem that was COMPLETELY NONEXISTENT.
WHOOP-DEE-FUCKIN'-DO.