Today I read the 3-step instructions for jumper cables. I did this because after parallel parking my car last night, I left my flashers on and then didn't come back to my car for about 6 hours. It was dead. It was also making some pretty spectacular buzzing noises as my interior lights flickered ominously at me.
Handyman from yesterday, which I think is a better nickname than New-ish Guy, drove me to Home Depot to buy said jumper cables because we couldn't locate any at his house (Side note: he lives with four guys and none of them had any. I think this actually proves my point from yesterday).
At first I protested buying them, but Handyman said "I really don't think this is the last time we're going to run into this situation, Gina."
I thought this was kind of him, seeing as this is, by my count, the 4th time this year I've left my lights on and drained my battery. (I would argue that it takes a special kind of obliviousness and a superhuman subconscious refusal to learn from your mistakes to pull this off with such frequency.)
In the end it was kind of a fun adventure to be included in the car-jumping. I oversaw the red-to-red and black-to-black hitching, and then watched my engine as Handyman revved it back to life. It was much better than my dad and I knowingly looking at each other as I sit in the car and he bites his tongue so that he doesn't ask something like, "WOULD IT KILL YOU TO PAY JUST A LITTLE BIT MORE ATTENTION?"
Now I'm taking off my fix-it pants to watch Milk, which I finally Netflixed. I'm really excited. If I know anything, it's that my obsession with ballsy politicians from the past is almost as strong as my innate desire to kill my car battery every chance I get.
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