Often, I have spoken of the various curses that plague me, but lately only one has surfaced: the malediction involving all automobiles I own, drive or even think about.
With the slightest touch, I can bring forth ear-piercing shrieks and make entire cars crumble beneath my fingers. No car can survive. Soon, I will forge an entire junkyard with my bare hands.
Recently, after months of searching for a car that would not disintegrate, I drove home in a machine that seemed ready to take on the world. Somehow, I knew this car would take me anywhere. Somehow, I convinced myself: I was no longer cursed.
So, I took a foolhardy drive over the weekend and haughtily proclaimed, "My car will make it without incident!"
Boy, was I silly.
All that drama, searching for the perfect car while doing my level best to rid myself of the death trap I had -- merely a prologue to this weekend, when the guiding hands of fate would steer my disabled car to the shoulder and kill it.
All that elation, finding a car and simultaneously unloading the previous death trap on my dad, who solemnly vowed to sell it -- only book two in a continuing legacy of torment that will one day make for a wonderful made-for-TV miniseries.
This car was not up for my tomfoolery.
Before I go on, I acknowledge that I'm not the only person to ever have car trouble and that the world is not, in fact, against me. However, I must point out that, unlike mine, your car is not in the shop.
So my car broke down. I had no idea what was wrong. It just died. I had no AAA card, mainly because I am an idiot. I did have a phone, so I called for help.
I spoke to several people who didn't want to help and will, as a result, be reminded of the evening of Nov. 27, 2002, when they call me for help and I laugh like a monkey watching television.
When I reached my girlfriend, she gathered up food, a blanket, some drinks and a St. Bernard and came to the rescue. (She actually had her dad drive, and there was no St. Bernard.)
While I waited, I discovered how quickly a car loses heat in the cold. I also discovered how little I wanted to walk, but how good an idea it seemed once I couldn't feel my fingers.
Oh, the ill feelings I had when 18-wheelers were blowing by my crippled car, dormant on the shoulder of I-465. Yes, even in this new millennium of digital cable, Internet porn and reality shows, our society still cannot manage the roadway courtesy of getting the hell over when someone's car has broken down.
So, I vowed never to let this happen to me again, and to complain about it in print for all to see. But I also wanted to help others prepare for these situations. After all, I love people.
First, keep a blanket, a flashlight and extra clothes in your trunk. You might also keep some non-perishable food in the car. Get a Triple-A card. Get a wireless phone. Lastly, get a girlfriend (or a St. Bernard).
Or just get a car that runs, assuming you aren't cursed.
Write to John at kingseyeland@bsu.edu
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