I work all Friday, probably like a lot of folks, excited for the weekend. In fact, I was so excited for the weekend that I cleaned my house, top to bottom, at 9 PM, yesterday. That way it would be all clean and ready for the weekend fun too.
I was reinvigorated as I pushed through the heavy white door that leads to the parking lot and found myself surrounded by sunlight. I click-clacked my heels to the car quickly. And it refused to start. That’s right…my brand new, 2014 Jeep Wrangler, wouldn’t start. Or, on the rare occasions when it would, it would promptly turn itself back off. Yes, I’m personifying my car here. It, apparently, would have liked a car wash or some other weekend prep. Maybe it felt left out.
After spending 20 minutes on the phone with the happiest Geico operator on all the earth, I was asked to wait 45 minutes for my tow truck to the nearest dealer. Hip hip hooray!
I wanted to be upset. I really did. I even shook my head and lowered it into my hands. But I realized I wasn’t. I’m okay. I have roadside assistance. I have two handsome gentlemen (Dad and Nicholas) willing to pick me up so I don’t have to ride in a tow truck while wearing my navy blue mini skirt, which now doesn’t seem as great an idea as it did this morning. And I’m, as the happy Geico operator put it, “at a safe location,” blogging about the whole thing.
As I tend to do, I immediately thought of relevant song lyrics:
“This is how we do it.
It’s Friday night, and I feel all right
The party is here on the West side….” <— (it is…I’m in Doral…west of Downtown Miami)
Thank you, Mr. Montell Jordan, for your wonderful, and catchy, interpretation of these words.