I Blame the Heat

Dang.. is it hot or what?

Today has been better and I've calmed down a bit, so it's safe for me to relay a few of the events from the last day or two.

I came home from work the other day, got out of the van and closed the door, which then bounced back open. I did the only thing I could do, I tried to slam it again.

Insanity: Repeating the same action over and over, expecting the outcome to change.

I soon realized that the door was hanging a bit lower than usual, so I did my best to lift the door while closing it, which worked... sort of. I soon learned that what was difficult from outside the vehicle, would prove to be damn near impossible while inside the vehicle. Over the next few days, there would be some fantabulous pornstar nail damage, some boob trauma and more colorful language than anyone should ever feel the need to utter.

All this time, I'd been walking around with a new prescription I needed filled. I was almost out of my current supply and I knew I couldn't put it off much longer. I was afraid to drive very far with the door acting up, it's not easy to cruise across two mountain passes with curvy roads, driving with one hand and desperately holding on to the door with the other. I was afraid it would pop open and dump my sizeable hind end out on to the highway. Yesterday, I decided I'd have to take the chance and get to the grocery store to get my drugs.

It wasn't easy.

I finally got there, in one piece and without taking out any wayward cows. I made a bee line to the pharmacy, right before it closed, only to be told that they didn't have that particular medication.

Well crap on a cracker.

On the way home, well, I'll have to leave some things out to protect the reputation of the Amazon. Let's just say I was in a foul mood. It was that simmering, hormone driven kind of pissed off, the kind that unleashes the beast known as Turbo Bitch. Oh and she was in rare form.

First, there were the tourists. Now, I realize when you city folk travel to our little Mayberry-esque communities, it's easy to forget that the road you're walking IN THE MIDDLE OF is actually a STATE HIGHWAY and that people may actually be piloting assorted MOTOR VEHICLES along the route. While we'll do our dangedest not to run over little precious in her pink jelly shoes and cute-as-a-button yellow sundress, you could at least hold her hand and not let her skip-to-my-Lou RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE FREAKIN' VAN. It may be driven by the homonally driven turbo bitch. Oh and, when I slam on the brakes and miss little precious, just barely, it would be nice of you not to give me that go to hell look, as if you were offended that I was driving ON THE FREAKIN' HIGHWAY.

Good Lord people, get a clue.

So then, after that little brush with tragedy and making sure I hadn't soiled my granny panties, I boogied on. Just ahead, a motorcycle was approaching, carrying two extremely hairy people of indeterminable sex. As I neared the pub parking lot, these....NEANDERTHALS... turned RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME to get to the bar. I'm talking like.. less than a foot between the grill of the van and their sudden death. I had to STAND on the brakes to keep from hitting them and as a result, probably knocking them sideways and wiping out all of the pub patrons who were lounging outside under patio umbrellas.

Keep in mind, I'm having to keep a death grip on the door this whole time.

Because it was 98 degrees out and there's no a/c in the van, all of the windows were down. The beast reared her ugly head and I screamed in a voice reminicent of Linda Blair, right before the pea soup incident, a string of profanities that ya'll probably heard all the way over in Iowa.

I scared the living hell out of about thirty half drunk, scantily dressed tourists.

I cursed under my breath, head bobbing from side to side, all the way home. About half way there, I realized that I drive the ONLY van of this type for miles and by this morning, all of Frog Pond Holler would know of my little outburst.

Well, fuck screw it I say.

There were a few more outbursts after I got home, the details of which I'll spare you. I got to work today and called the gas station to see if Gomer or Jethro or whoever the hell is running the damned place now could fix the door.

"Why sure! We kin feex it! Brang it own down!"

So I did and left it during my lunch break. My next-door-cubicle-neighbor gave me a ride back down there to pick it up when I got off. It seemed to be fixed. I handed over my debit card and paid the man forty five bucks and drove the rest of the way home. Before I turned the key, I pushed the button to roll the window up.

Nothing.

I tried to roll the passenger window down.

Nothing.

Oh holy hell.