A Sunburn and a PT Cruiser: The Tale of My Darkest Hour

I'm not much for delving into my personal life for all the world to see, but this story begs telling. Where to begin? How about at the beginning...

A/C. Not like Slater, like the kind in your car.
You know how every car after the Model-T has air conditioning? So did my Honda Civic, until about two months ago. I went in, had the freon charged and everything was fine. For about a month. Then things started acting up again. I took it to Firestone Tire & Service Centers at 11th & N, a few blocks from my office.

They informed me that a "relay fuse" had blown, they replaced it that day, and they charged me a fairly reasonable price. Problem solved, the air was blowing cold. It was like biting into a York Peppermint Pattie.


Then, The Completely Expected.
The next day, one hour into my 7-hour car ride to Minnesota, a sound burst forth from my vents, and what began as sweet, frosty air turned into the breath of Satan. "Oh, darn," I thought, "what an unfortunate circumstance that hath befallen me." I rolled down the window, stuck my pale left arm out, and subjected myself to the one-sided sunburning of a lifetime. I arrived at the lake looking like TwoFace, assuming TwoFace's condition extended to his arm, shoulder and neck.

Before heading back to Nebraska, I was informed by my father that I was in need of four new tires, as my current set had been stripped balder than Britney Spears after a bender. Add another couple hundred to the bill.

The trip home (on my sweet new Firenza tires, I might add) was one hour more miserable than the trip there. I returned to Nebraska with an even more intense half-burn, just in time to celebrate our nation's independence by drinking beer and blowing shit up.


Back to The Shop.
I took the Civic back to the mechanic today, 6 days after my last visit. After running some checks he informed me that "The reason the little thing went out in your A/C is because the big thing that powers it is broken." Thank you, Click & Clack. This, I was told, would be a much more expensive repair than the first one. Now, if you don't know me, let me say this: though I enjoy gator boots and/or pimped out Gucci suits, I am not made of money (but I'm still fly). My tab was beginning to run up, it was getting out of control, I was angry.

But A/C is A/C. You need it. Well I do, anyway. So I bit the bullet, told the shop to go ahead and make the repair and started printing out flyers for my new prostitution business. Who knew baby would have to turn tricks to make ends meet!?!?!

Then, the dagger. They ordered THE WRONG PART. Yep. So that's another 2 days in the shop for the Civic, which means I was privy to a free rental car until Saturday afternoon. And that's where things got crazy...


The Nail In The Coffin.
It's not that I don't like PT Cruisers. I hate them. They are maybe (maybe) acceptable for 45-year-old soccer moms. But they suck. A lot. So of course, I got one. Son of a bitch. Now I have to cart myself around town in the quintessential mom-mobile, making people wonder if I'm making an emergency run to the grocery store for Capri Sun and Shasta or picking up my son from soccer practice where I push him relentlessly to compensate for the athletic shortcomings of my youth.

It sucks. So I decided to send a message to the world as I drive around. Observe:


The end result: A partial sunburn, an idiotic mechanic and the mom-mobile with a message. The only thing that could've made this story worse is if there was a Sheryl Crow CD stuck in the PT and I couldn't turn it off. So I guess I have that to be thankful for.