"When life chucks you lemons, make lemonade" is easier said than done.
I saw this one coming but hoped people would be considerate while moving their ^%@#*!$%# vehicles about. I was soooooooooooo fucking pissed. Not so much because of the scratches but because there was no way of finding who did it and beat them to pulp, put that pulp into a 10 micron plastic bag and leave that plastic bag in the middle of the road so vehicles can drive all over it during peak hour.
In a fit of frustration I pulled out the car tarpaulin from the boot and threw it over my car for some instant damage control...
Woke up with an annoying cold today and had to drive my mother to work.
Not a problem because I love driving and I love my brand new petrol powered pocket-rocket.
Not a problem because I love driving and I love my brand new petrol powered pocket-rocket.
9:00 Mother starts hysterically screaming "It's late, it's late" while packing the lunch-dabba with her special for-diabetics-only food.
9:06 Mother starts hysterically screaming "It's late, it's late" while putting on lipstick and slipping into her work shoes.
9:09 Ten minutes behind schedule, I'm backing the car out of our basement assuring mum that it will be alright and that I'd get her to work on time. "It's late, it's late" See my mom is the punctual kind. A virtue that I missed out on during the whole inheritance deal.
9:10 I opened the gates of the basement and bang across the opening, blocking it entirely was a silly turd of a car. No, it was literally turd-brown in colour. *Nothing* on the whereabouts of the person responsible for this brilliant display of human intelligence. Plus, the fact that there are 8 houses in our building wasn't helping either. A vein popped on my mother's forehead. Yeah, never a good sign.
9:11 My mother was now The Incredible Hulk and she can bellow alright.
9:11 The owner of the car came scrambling down the stairs with an ominous wet spot around his crotch. He's moved to China, I hear.
We hit the tarmac and at ten, sharp, my mother was at her office. Smiling and no veins popping furiously about.
After my little chauffeur routine, I usually stop by near my beau's office for a chai and dum pitstop - the working class hero's key to survival. Except today, thanks to Jet Airways' continued harassment, this quick catch-up session became a drive halfway across town. Never one to complain about postponing work to a much later segment of the day, I was driving when I decided to take a legitimate U-turn. Because Mc Donalds makes me happy.
Green light ✓
Rear view mirror ✓
Indicator ✓
*steer right*
Rear view mirrCRRAAASHHH.
Rear view mirror ✓
Indicator ✓
*steer right*
Rear view mirrCRRAAASHHH.
Mr. Fat-guy-on-bike rushing to work wanted to rip straight past ahead of me but crashed into the car when I swerved right. After my body stopped shaking and the bike guy rode off claiming he was alright, my heart bled at the sight of the dents and scratches on my brand new shiny car. Fuck fuckedy fuck fuck.
And the McFlurry tasted like shit.
And the McFlurry tasted like shit.
On my way back, this obnoxious paan chewing cunt who kept gleefully spewing red juices out of his mouth, every signal, got a mouthful from me. He was moving at 20 kmph for at least 10 minutes and refused to acknowledge he's holding up traffic because he was so busy talking on his phone through his dodgy little plastic bowl-like helmet. Cost me two consecutive green lights because he had to indulge in a fucking mating dance with his cell phone in the middle of traffic. I wrote down, somewhere, the reason for not having run him over.
I reached home and noticed that one of our foolish apartment folk, who park their bikes at kissing distance from my car in the night sometimes had scratched my car.
I saw this one coming but hoped people would be considerate while moving their ^%@#*!$%# vehicles about. I was soooooooooooo fucking pissed. Not so much because of the scratches but because there was no way of finding who did it and beat them to pulp, put that pulp into a 10 micron plastic bag and leave that plastic bag in the middle of the road so vehicles can drive all over it during peak hour.
In a fit of frustration I pulled out the car tarpaulin from the boot and threw it over my car for some instant damage control...
[cut to tragic story of how I begggggged my parents to buy me the Samsung fucking S3 and how they obliged.]
[cut back to today's kolaveri]
In a fit of frustration I pulled out the car tarpaulin from the boot and threw it over my car for some instant damage control. I heard a soft thud. My left hand felt lighter and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I walked over to the front of the car and froze.
What followed was a blur of light and sound. With steadily flowing tears staining my cheeks, I collapsed alongside the body of my baby, lying still and motionless on the ground. I picked it up and turned it around.
Its Super AMOLED capacitative touch screen made from Gorrila Glass 2 - all 4.8 inches of it - had cracked and shattered all the way through.
I walked home slowly after having waved my white flag and took a nap hoping that this would all be a bad dream and that my car and phone were shiny and untouched once more.
I woke up. There was no power. No internet. No food in the kitchen.
I woke up. There was no power. No internet. No food in the kitchen.
My phone beeped. Through the cracked glass I read.
Balance of your A/c xxx/SB/xx/xxxx has come to INR 96.50 below your desired balance
Fuck.
P.S. Anger Management, the show, is soooooo not funny, no? Ueggh. I really had high hopes.
#charliesheen #disappointment #badsitcoms
P.S. Anger Management, the show, is soooooo not funny, no? Ueggh. I really had high hopes.
#charliesheen #disappointment #badsitcoms
