Katie Tabor

Once a junkie, Always a junkie?

Every time. Every single time. I will never understand how my car knows when I am going out of town. It's like a vindictive, cruel, mean girl classmate from high school that just so happened to hate me then, and continues in adulthood to go out of her way to destroy my trip, my day, and my life, only for her to of course go home to her handsome husband, obedient children and spotless house. I crank the engine one more time, hoping that maybe God doesn't have a twisted sense of humor after all, and instead of the engine screaming at me to get this show on the road, I hear a faint click. Those that are not as experienced in the art of breaking down during the most inconvenient times possible, would probably assume the battery was dead. But upon further investigation, and first hand knowledge of what it sounds and looks like, I knew it wasn't the battery. It was the starter, which made things so much worse than they would be if it was indeed the battery. It means I can't just simply humiliate myself by asking random strangers for a jump, but instead I must wait for my car as it vindictively delays my weekend plans, and selfishly doesn't even go dutch on the $636.00 it ends up costing me.