What a Day

A day that starts out with you dealing with government bureaucracy is destined to end poorly, and my brothers and sisters, this one was no exception.

I had to make an appearance at the Thomas P. O'Neill Federal Building in downtown Boston today.  It was going to be so easy.  Easy in, easy out, maybe lunch with Josie (who works just a few hundred yards from there) and back home. I was brimming with optimism that turned out to be entirely unwarranted.

I was at the Federal Building to get a passport renewed; mine expired about two months ago, go figure.  Also - and this should be no surprise to those who know me - I procrastinated to the extent that I had to get it renewed in person, which was more money.  They also saw fit to levy a $40 "security fee." This apparently served to separate me from $40 quite securely. Between all the rigmarole and hassle it ended up costing me over $200.

But I was not done spending money.

Because apparently, completely unbeknownst to me, I parked in a commercial-only zone. And I got ticketed.  So the city of Boston profited from my visit to the tune of an additional $55 - pretty fucking expensive for a parking ticket, but whatever.  I looked up and indeed saw a sign that said commercial only that I didn't notice.  So it's not like I got hosed or anything; as a matter of fact the meter cop called me  "honey" and told me I'd better get a move on as a wrecker was pulling up ready to tow my ass. So I needed to get going, so going I got.  Goodbye lunch with Josie! (That's assuming she was available and willing; I never discussed it with her).  I got in and got going.  Arrivederci,  Boston!

But I was not done spending money.

As I was driving home, I noticed that my car started sounding louder than normal.  I couldn't place it, but I knew that I'd heard that noise before.

When did I hear that?

It seems to be getting louder.  Every time I pass a car I can hear the reflection of my car making all kinds of noise.

What the fuck is that?

OH MY GOD I KNOW WHAT THAT SOUND IS.  I HAVE A...

BOOM!

Flat tire. And now, what I have is better described as several strands of rubber loosely arranged around a rim that is making contact with the highway at 50 mph.

So it's the side of the road for your old pal Crafty.  At very least, I have most of an iced coffee and my Kindle to keep me company until help arrives.  Help, in this case, is triple-A, those evil thieving bastards who wouldn't replace my obviously defective battery.  But - they got there in about 45 minutes, threw my space-saver on, and off I went. So that's probably another $100 for a tire, or perhaps two, because I should probably buy them in pairs.

But I am not done spending money. Maybe.

It might just be the fact that there's a donut on my car, but about halfway between where I blew (hee hee) the tire and home, my ABS light comes up and my OBD computer tells me that I need to do some worrying about my brake system.

So far this fucking day has cost me $400, and if I need to get a new ABS assembly I might as well just buy a new car.  If there were ever an instance where I should end a post in three letters it is this one.

FML.