I'm having one of those days. One of those fucking days when the world tells you to piss off. But, I'm not mad. At least not right now as I sit here with my laptop and my instant coffee on my comfy couch.
There is another shut down, lockdown, stay-at-home order type thingy going on. Sigh. That has been frustrating me for some time because I want to do what I want to do with impunity, without scrutiny and without guilt. I don't blame anyone for this predicament. It is what it is and I am much more fortunate than others during this time because I have two jobs, no young children, I can collect Canada Recovery Benefits if I want, my rent is paid and I have food. And beer.
However, last week I was driving home from work, shifting into 6th gear to get around some slow prick, as usual, when the Traction Control Light came on. Consequently, my car started acting like it was on roller skates for the first time. Freaked me out a bit. Mostly because one starts to think about money as soon as something goes wrong with one's vehicle. "This is gonna cost me at least a grand," said my negative inner voice.
My mechanic said he could look at it on Monday. It was Wednesday. I'd already delayed visiting my mom for two weeks and now I would have to cancel our weekend Scrabble plans. So, now I have anxiety from unexpected expenses, guilt for not seeing my mom and frustration from not being able to go to a movie theater. Many of you think this is a petty response to the global pandemic, but I disagree and here's why. Just because I know what I've got to do, I'm still allowed to be upset about having to do it. I'm an adult, I know about sacrifices. But, as a human, I have feelings of despair and injustice and I want to throw a tantrum sometimes. You can deal with your feelings by pointing fingers and ridiculing others for their decisions if you want to, but we are all just winging it here and a little compassion would go a long way. Except for that prick driving in front of me on the 417. He/she can choke on a fat dick.
So, I take my car to the garage early Monday morning. By noon, I get a call saying they dried some wires and cleared some leaves out of the intake or some other nonsense and I was good to go. As a woman, I'm used to mansplaining. I frequently have men explain how a remote control works even though I co-owned a satellite installation business. I've had men try to explain how to change a beer keg when I have seen more couplers and tapped more casks than any greenhorn beer snob. I grew up around cars and I know a thing or two, so when I tell you there's a problem with the traction control and you give me "whirlybirds in my manifold", I feel attacked.
To be fair, what actually happened was my ABS light was not on when I took it to the garage. They fixed what the engine code told them to fix and my feelings of indignation and pride are unwarranted. However, as I turned on my car to go work this morning, I see the familiar ABS light up and my "I-told-you-so" attitude came on.
I tried to be nice when I called the garage and made another appointment. Then, I had to call my dad because that's what I do when I'm feeling helpless. I'm going to be 48 years old and I still call my dad to fix my life. As usual, he fixed it. He told me to take it back to the garage on Friday because that was the reasonable thing to do. Then I called my mom to reschedule our Scrabble game... again.
At this point, I had been jerking along the road, occasionally pulling over to make another call and deciding how late was too late to go to work. I had turned around twice to go home, but I kept telling myself to grow up and quit feeling sorry for myself. "You'll feel better if you just throw around some poorly wrapped parcels at Canada Post," said my passive-aggressive inner voice.
I made my way clumsily onto the 417 with my chugga chugga car... and came to an abrupt stop. Apparently, there had been an accident just ahead and "this late" would definitely be "too late" to go to work. The gods had spoken. This was a sign to follow Doug Ford's stay-at-home order and just vent my frustration on the internet.
"Thanks for listening," from my positive and grateful inner voice.
