This Story Does Not Have A Happy Ending

As if leaving home wasn't bad enough, what happened on Sunday night solidifies the shitty luck I have with cars. This story really starts in 2002 when my parents bought me my second car, a 1996 Mitsubishi Eclipse lovingly dubbed "The Teal Streak".  After several years, many fond memories, two engines, several timing belts, an alternator, three radiators, a clutch, a passenger door handle, four hydraulic trunk lifts, a tie rod, a front bumper, a rear bumper, an exhaust, two head units, trunk flooring, eight tires (in one year), two wheels, three driver side headlights and 215,000+ miles, my car refused to start in the throes of the hottest St. Louis summer since 1936 (by daily average temperature) last July.  My parents let me borrow my Dad's vehicle since he bought a new one.  I drove a Saturn VUE for a few months before being gifted a Toyota Camry from my Mom after my Great Aunt left it to her.  Still following?

I came into possession of the Camry the day after Thanksgiving - 11.26.10.  I drove home the following Sunday - 11.28.10.  I've had the car for three days.  Keep that in mind.  On my way home, somewhere north of Columbia, Missouri, I text Leah, "are you gonna be hungry later?"  Apparently, I send that text to her fairly often.  Anyway, after a few dangerous texts at 70 miles per hour, we decide on La Gra, a tapas place in Dogtown.  We recruit a few more people and end up having six people eating at La Gra.  Me and five girls, yeaaaaaaaa!  I get home around 5:20. Krista meets me at my place, we pick up Bri B and head to Leah's in Soulard.  After we pick her up, we head to La Gra and meet Bri Z.

La Gra was...mediocre.  Aside from the company, there wasn't much to enjoy.  They were out of ingredients for half of their menu, the service was moving at the speed of smell, and the food we did get wasn't worth the money we paid.  I think the two bottles of Pinot Noir made it bearable.  During dinner, we decided to catch a movie - Harry Potter.  Yea, I know.  Harry Potter.  Just pretend I went to see a combination of The Predator, Rocky, and every Schwarzenegger movie combined.  So, I drop off the girls at Moolah to grab a few couches, take Krista home, and head back to The Moolah.  I park in the same spot I always park at when I go to The Moolah.  The third parking spot on the right behind Rally's.  I lock the car, walk in, and buy my ticket to Predanegger Balboa VII.  Turns out, I hadn't seen Predanegger Balboa VI so I was completely lost from the opening scene.  Bri B kept feeding me popcorn, which was cool.  That is, until I took a handful of salt with some popcorn and nearly gagged.  Simultaneously, I discovered I was eating popcorn out of the salt cup.

After the movie, we all walk to my car.  I walk to the driver's side and Bri Z heads toward shotgun.  That's when it was discovered.  Bri mistook the shattered glass in my passenger seat as ice from a spilled drink and said, "Rob, did you spill a dr - oh my God."

I wish I had spilled a drink.

My passenger window was shattered.  My glove box was wide open and everything that wasn't bolted to the frame had been tossed in the driver's seat.  The degenerate drug addict managed to steal my Garmin GPS and  a 3/4 length coat that was laying in my back seat.  MY bad for leaving the GPS in plain view.  Hid bad for being a degenerate drug addict.  I take solace in the fact that according Dante, thieves preside in the 8th ring of hell.  More specifically, Bolgia 7 of the 8th ring of hell.  There, they can look forward to an existence like this:

Two cantos are devoted to the thieves, who are guarded by the centaur Cacus, who has a fire-breathing dragon on his shoulders (in Roman mythology, Cacus was not a centaur, but a fire-breathing monster slain by Heracles). The thieves are pursued and bitten by snakes and lizards. The full horror of the thieves' punishment is revealed gradually: just as they stole other people's substance in life, their very identity becomes subject to theft here,^[43] and the snake bites make them undergo various transformations. Vanni Fucci is turned to ashes and resurrected; Agnello is blended with the six-legged reptile that is Cianfa; and Buoso exchanges shapes with the four-legged Francesco: "The soul that had become an animal, / now hissing, hurried off along the valley; / the other one, behind him, speaks and spits."

I don't know who Vanni Fucci, Agnello, Cianfa, Buoso, or Francesco are, but they sound like serious demony, reptilian bad asses.  So, cheers to that, asshole.  I hope the GPS is worth both the crack high you get and the beatings you get from Cacus and his fire breathing dragon while you're burning in hell.

The story isn't over either.

I drive to work today, which was a bit drafty, only to find out there is a chance of thunder storms.  Not just rain but thunder storms.  Sure enough, it starts pouring. I manage to scavenge two trash bags and some packaging tape to cover my window.  I didn't have an umbrella, but one of my female coworkers was gracious enough to lend me her coach umbrella.  Yep.  Girly and Coach covered, but dry.  So picture this: me walking into a monsoon, wielding a Coach umbrella, a tape gun and two trash bags.  The real comedy ensued while I tried to hold the umbrella while simultaneously holding trash bags and taping them to my passenger door.  It was ungraceful to say the least.  After all of that work, my trash bag window lasted about 13 minutes before blowing away on Highway 40 during my commute home.  So, laugh away!

I said the story didn't have a happy ending I didn't say it wasn't funny.  Although, your probably laughing at the though of me carrying a Coach umbrella, I'm still picturing Cacus beating the shit out of some crack addict.

The glass is being replaced at 8:30 tomorrow morning.