Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Reversal of Trash Fortune (AKA: words I'll always regret saying)

I’ve been kind of overwhelmed the past couple of months.  I had a family emergency that’s taken up most of my time and I’ve basically been at the point that I just can’t handle one more single thing.

Enter one more single thing... 

While I was out dealing with said family emergency, I decided to make a quick stop at Taco Bell on the way between crisis management appointments and work to pick up a drive-through lunch.  Because nothing says home cooking like 35% beef mixed with “other ingredients”.   

So there I am, sitting at the bottom of the I-985 exit ramp waiting to make a right on red to get to Taco Bell, when WHAM!!!  A high school kid in a brand new Jeep nails my beloved old convertible right in the rear. Insert “taking it in the rear” joke here.  The police eventually arrived, only to inform me that the hitter had questionable immigration status and even more questionable car insurance.   Awesome.  Note to self: How come a 17-year-old potentially-undocumented immigrant has a nicer car than I do? 

I finally got back to the office and started wrangling with the high school hitter’s insurance company about getting the repairs covered.  Fast forward two full weeks and the insurance co. is still tap dancing around with the requisite bullshit:  New policy.  Driver not covered.   Police report not ready. Insured party won’t return calls. Insured party won’t answer certified letter.  Insured party won’t answer door.  Blah Blah Blah. 

Now I’m dealing with a family emergency and driving around in a ghetto looking car with a smacked up rear bumper and a tail light hanging on by two slim wires and a prayer, which may or may not be covered by the guilty party’s insurance company.  It was literally more than I could handle (and I don’t use those words lightly – I’m usually a Ninja Warrior in a crisis situation). 

Naturally, I whined to Jeff about how I’m just going to start walking everywhere I go because I can’t be bothered with working with the sketchy insurance company to get my car fixed while I’m dealing with family issues and an office workload that seems to double every day. Cue violins for my pitiful situation. 

Jeff, in his infinite wisdom, says “I don’t mean to make things worse, but we’ve only got a month until you birthday and we need to get the emissions done so we can renew your tag. Oh, and since your current tag is damaged we can’t renew online.  We’ll have to go to the DMV and wait in line to get a new one.”  That’s two more single things, people.  Possibly three.

My response?  “I don’t want to hear another goddamn word about cars.  EVER.  Can you please just handle everything?”  He got a little smile on his face, and without a second thought he said he’d take care of it.  I should have noticed that he agreed a little too easily, but I kind of thought may be he was just happy to have an opportunity to take care of me.  Sometimes I can be so stupid!

Anyway, I picked up the keys to our spare car (a trusty 1997 Nissan Pathfinder, with damn near a quarter-million miles on it), and went about my business while he handled the insurance battle and car repair (which took 6 more weeks plus repair time, by the way).

About half way through the repair process I came home one night after work and noticed subtle changes in our driveway.  First, I saw large oil stains along the drive.  Based on my years with Jeff I know this is a sure sign of a tow truck visit.   Also based on my history with Jeff, I know that tow trucks only come to our property to make deliveries.  Because I’m not lucky enough to have anything hauled away.  Next, I noticed that the Ford truck under the truck cover at the end of the drive appeared to be substantially shorter than the truck that was in the same spot when I left for work in the morning.

People, contrary to popular belief, I am not a moron.  A switcheroo had taken place behind my back.  Total.  Marriage. Foul.  The penalties would be swift.

I entered the house, walked right up to Jeff and here’s what transpired:

LAB: “What’s under the truck cover?”
Jeff: “A 1971 Ford F-100, same as always.”
LAB: “You sure that’s what you’re going with?  I know it’s a different truck because the one parked in the driveway doesn’t have an 8-foot bed.” See how observant I am!  Nothing gets past me!
Jeff:  “Well it’s not the *same* truck, but it’s a Ford F-100.”
LAB: “Uh huh.  Where did this mysteriously different Ford F-100 come from?”
Jeff: “I had it towed in.  For parts.”
LAB: “Uh huh. Where’s the other truck?”
Jeff: “I rented a parking spot for it at the storage place around the corner.  It’s just for 30 days, so I can strip it of the parts I need and bring the other one back.”
LAB: “Uh huh.”
Jeff: “What?”
LAB: “Seriously?  You bought another parts car after we just got rid of that piece of crap LTD you bought for parts?”
Jeff: “Of course.  The LTD had already been stripped. What’s the problem?”
LAB: “You brought another piece of shit car in here without telling me!  I thought we agreed: talk first, buy later.”

And here it comes people.  The zinger:

Jeff: “You told me that you didn’t want to hear another goddamn word about cars, remember?  As I recall, you also added the word EVER.” 

Touché, Jeff.  You win this one.

I know what you guys are thinking:  LAB, you make this shit up just to amuse yourself.

Nope.  Not only did he tow in a complete POS truck, but it’s full of tires & trash.  Which I hope didn’t cost extra.  Behold our new acquisition!

 Here's the proud owner, taking his own photos of his new pride & joy:
 Ain't she a beauty?
 And complete with bald, dead, smelly tires in the cab!
 Not sure where the trash ends and the truck begins:

I was smart enough not to ask Jeff how much he paid for this fine item. Although I was seriously tempted to ask him if he back charged the previous owner for trash removal.  I totally brought this one on myself.  Won't happen again.


  1. Oh sweet baby jeebus!

    Bless your sweet overwhelmed, junkyard heart.

    You tell The Jeff he fucked you over on a technicality, major foul.

  2. @Annabelle: I would, but at this point I'm just glad he hasn't run screaming into the night...never to return!