I typed this up in the hope that it would break my writer's block, i hope you enjoy the little taste of my life as i try to be funny while retelling it.

I’ve never been the best with cars, sure I like to think I know all that I need to know to get from A to B, but unfortunately I’ve been proven wrong countless of times.

I didn’t start to have issues until I moved 4 hours away from home on my own to attend UNI. Never had trouble with my car, always put my oil and water into it, learnt how to check the tire pressure and yea I filled it up with petrol regularly. All in all I thought I had I pretty much down pat.

The first incident was on one of the hottest ing days in my town, it was 40 plus something degrees and I am not a heat person. Not one bit. I am quite happy to walk around in shorts and a singlet in 8 degree weather and be perfectly fine with it much to the fascination of my roommates.

So it’s 40 plus something degrees and I’ve decided that going to the gym is a good idea, someone stop me the next time I have an idea like this! I come home from the gym and I park right out the front of my place in a one hour parking spot because I was going to shower up quickly and head over to a friend’s place for the afternoon. I shower, do my business and come back down and get into my car like usual. It doesn’t start.

I panic. I keep trying to start it again and as I’m panicking it’s getting hotter and hotter and I’m really starting to feel the heat. In my moment of hysteria I ring my mechanic who is literally just around the corner in the hopes that one of his workers can come down and have a look at it for me. Now that I’m out of the situation I realise just how stupid I was but he politely, and without treating me like an idiot, tells me to ring my roadside assistance that I have paid for for the past 3 years. This sounds all fine and dandy but I’m worried about the parking inspector that will drive past and fine me for parking there for an extended period of time. Again my mechanic explains calmly to put up a few signs saying that the car is broken down and waiting for assistance.

I covered my whole ing car in A4 sheets of paper.

I ended up scurrying away back inside my apartment building because there was aircon and a glass door so I could see out to my car to make sure it’s ok, as if the car would magically decide to start and roll away without me in it. I make my phone call to my roadside assistance company and you know, without really thinking, begin to text and call everyone on my contacts list to tell them about the issue and see if they can offer some words of wisdom or help. Because like you know, just in case they send someone not fully trained to handle my car. I even rang my mother, 4 hours away, during a chiropractor appointment; as if she was gonna scoot on down here in a flash and save the day.

One of my friends Justin turns up not much later to save the rest of the poor souls coping my anxiety over the phone and to keep me company while we wait for help to arrive. The car turns up and I hand all my valuables over to Justin so I can help the guy peel off all the paper stuck to my car so he can actually get into it to see what’s wrong. He jumpstarts it with ease but tells me that there is something wrong with my alternator and that I would probably need to get it fixed. Just happy that the car is actually purring away like it usually does, I make a quick phone call to my mechanic to tell him that the car is running but I’ll have to bring it in the next day for a check-up.

This being the first time my car has ever gone flat, I have no idea of what to do until the guy tells me I have to leave it running for at least half an hour to get a bit of charge into it. I don’t want to sit out the front for 30 minutes watching my car in the heat, it’s a waste of petrol and I’d rather drive around sightseeing than letting it just run so I suggest to Justin we go up and see the really rich area on the outskirts of town that I recently found. He agrees and we’re off round the corner and onto the highway.

I’m in high spirits and we’re talking merrily until a thought occurs to me. Justin isn’t holding my wallet. I ask him frantically where it is and he cannot seem to find it. My heart drops into my stomach as I realise he probably left it on the car roof when he helped us out with the car. I quickly slow down to exit to the left through a roundabout and make our way back to my apartment in the hopes that it is still there on the ground waiting for us. Justin in the meantime is doing some sort of odd monkey dance, jumping around in the passenger seat as if that’s going to help him find my wallet faster. As I’m turning the corner I see Justin lurch to the side as he scoots over and watch helplessly as he knocks my car back into neutral. I scream at him as the car begins to shudder, barely making it around the corner and he’s shocked when he realises what he has down and tries to rectify the situation.

Only to knock it into reverse in his haste.

The car makes an almighty bang before shuddering and I barely manage to let it roll off to the side of the road before she dies. For the second time that day. We sit in silence, Justin with baited breath and anticipation. He has no idea how I’m going to react; he knows I have a scary temper. Unfortunately for him, I explode.

I scream and hit the steering wheel, cursing in my language and in his, a few words I picked up curtesy of a few Korean friends who thought it was funny to see a white girl swear with such vulgarity in their language. Justin merely sits still, not saying a word as he holds up my wallet that he found under his seat in the passenger side. I have never unbuckled my seatbelt fast enough nor got out of a car as quick as I did on that day. Had I’d not been so full of rage I probably would have laughed at the way poor Justin quietly made his way out of my car, gently shutting my passenger door before walking a little way aways down the street to sit in the gutter and curl up in on himself, making himself as small as possible as if to protect him from my wrath.

I have to give it to him, good old Justin; he’s the only one who’s dealt with the situation ideally when my temper blows. The majority of responses I get in a time like this is people either walking away and leaving me to my own devices or the actually try to go head to head with me and calm me down, make me see the silver lining in the situation. Those poor people learned that once I hit ultimate mode, there is no way you can make me see any other way but my own.

With him not trying to meddle into my tantrum I was finally able to calm down somewhat enough to call the roadside assistance again and my mechanic. Again. Literally 5 seconds after I get off from the phone from roadside assistance telling me that they’re going to send a tow truck this time, this silver ute comes hooning around the corner and starts backing right up to where my car is, only stopping when it’s arse is barely touching the front of my car where it sits on the curb. I’m talking all space, I couldn’t fit my legs through it even if I tried to scuttle through the gap sideways, that’s how small it was. The guy gets out of the car giving me the odd ‘what are you doing parking in front of my house' look and I immediately explain the situation to him. He seems understanding and sorry for us “you poor darling, let us know if you need any help ok? When the tow truck comes and if it needs to get access to the front of your car just come and knock on my door and I’ll move it for you ok?”

My good view on him ends when he tacks on after that “well I’m gonna go jump in my pool and have an ice cold drink cuz damn it’s hot out here… have fun guys” and stalks off into his probably air conditioned house.

Mother er.

I’m feeling bitter now and I’m starting to feel the pity fest coming on so I sit down next to Justin on the curb hoping that I can prevent myself from crying in front of him. It’s a long hour of sitting on the hot cement curb, avoiding the ants milling around beneath us trying to take a bite (I’m allergic to the ers) before the tow truck turns up, hoisting good old twittlebum up onto the back of the truck and taking us to my mechanics at 6pm at night. The shop is closed when we get there but thankfully they have a box leading into the shop where I can drop my keys off so they can get started onto it as soon as they get into the shop in the morning. I feel a little bit of ease now that I know that the car is going to be taken care of.

Turns out there was nothing wrong with the alternator, the car had apparently overheated and the battery had gone flat for some unexplained reason. I distinctly remember thanking my mechanic over and over again for squeezing me into his busy schedule and fixing my car. I also apologised for my stupidity over the phone the previous day to which he replies “it’s ok, I’m used to dealing with distraught females”

This is just the first of many instances involving me and cars, two parts that apparently don’t mix.

TBC.