I had this earlier in my journal, and hit clear just as I was ready to finish it. *sigh* And of course, work beckoned.
I had an… interesting morning. We’ll chalk this one up to “Things Mel has become complacent about due to three mild winters in a row.”
All of the following happened between 9:10 and 9:25 this morning. And no, I hadn’t had any caffeine yet.
I get down to the car a bit after 9 this morning– running a little late, but not too badly. I have to be to work by 9:30, and as long as I am on the road by quarter after nine, I’m generally there, give or take a couple minutes. So no worries. I get into the car, turn it on, and then turn to the left to get the seatbelt.
And out of the corner of my eye, I see this weird brownish goop thing on the inside of the rear passenger window.
What. The. Hell. Is. That?!?
Ew. Okay. Great.
I get out of the car– leaving it running in hopes that it will warm up a bit from the frigid single digit air outside. I open up the back door, and what do I see? A pile of shaved ice crystals on the floor of the car right behind the driver’s seat, which had origins from five now-exploded cans of diet vanilla coke.
Not only did these ice crystals form on the seat. The goop managed to get on the back of the driver’s seat, a little on the passenger seat, on the door, the previously mentioned three-inch-long goop on the window, and somehow– a goop on the ceiling.
Ah yes. Mel remembers the warning– too late, of course– that full sodas should not be left in a freezing car.
The current car appearance is why this should not be done.
I swear a bit, get back into the car, and drive it to the other side of our parking lot (all of a whopping thirty to forty feet) and park right next to the dumpster. I get out of the car again, this time turning it off. I go again to the back seat and grab the 12-pack box and as many of the cans as I can to get rid of them before assessing the damage.
Thankfully, the majority of it is on the floor of the car. And more specifically, on the floor mat. I pick it up, shake it out over the pavement, and give it a few good thumps against the back tire. I scoop out as many of the shavings that were on the floor as possible and dump them on the pavement. I then begin to brush off whatever will come off from the other surfaces. The goop on the window and the door are stubborn. I’ll need some warm soapy water for that once it warms up again. The rest seems to come up okay. A bit here and there that will have to be tended to, but all considering, I’m left reasonably unscathed.
I replace the floor mat, grumble a bit because my bare hands are now really cold from the coke crystals, and turn the key.
The car won’t start.
It keeps churning, but it won’t friggin start. I try cranking it a bit too long, hoping it’s just a bit too cold, but it won’t agree with me. As I bring the key back, I smell gas.
Shit. It’s flooded.
*sigh* I’m going to be here for a little while.
I reach for my cell phone to call Linda to let her know I’ll be late– as it’s now about 9:20.
My cell phone battery is dead.
I give a slightly louder– and expletive inclusive– growl of frustration, get out of the car, lock it, and head upstairs to make my call. While I’m up there, I decide to grab my phone charger, give the cats a few pets, and head back down to the car.
It takes four more tries to get it to start– and only does so when I pop the gas as if I were starting a clutch.
I got to work at 10 a.m. and scraped yet more coke crystals from my car.
Really… can it get any worse than this today?
It might. It just might.