August 28th 7:05pm - My Car is Cursed

I swear my car is cursed. It is a blight upon my otherwise semi-conventional existence. My parents purchased a Jetta for me in the summer of 2005 after they gave the love of my life, a 1992 Mercedes, away. Within the first month my car was parked in front of a party I was at. Some guys got in a fight (I do not usually attend hoodlum parties... promise) and decided they would take their unwarranted wrath out on the little white Jetta in front of the house. The Jetta's back windshield was smashed in with a fire poker. Of all objects to steal out of a house... a fire poker. The Jetta's misfortune has continued to escalate. Since then, a side window has been shattered. I knew something was wrong when I noticed my business cards in the crosswalk. The inside of my car was ransacked. The only thing missing: my oh-so-priceless gas card. My front windshield has been cracked. How that transpired is beyond me. While departing a hockey game I ran over a concrete slab in the middle of the exit. I was on a slight slope and my dashboard and the front of my car were blocking my view of the street. The floor in the back-seat elevated five inches. My cousin later took a sledge hammer to it and bashed the bump out. I blame the dashboard. A drunken friend of mine stole a hubcap (he didn't remember the next day... but there were witnesses). Another friend borrowed my car only to return it sans side mirror. His reply: it wasn't his fault, he didn't do it. An ace bandage acted as an adhesive and bonded the mirror to the car for a year and a half. My car got towed and the tow truck managed to tear off the entire front bumper. The good news: I told them the windshield hadn't previously been flawed, and they were responsible. They replaced the front windshield. My car was parked and a UHaul drove by, denting the side of my car and dislodging the bumper yet again. The UHaul had been rented by two men solely to deposit a couch to Goodwill. Goodwill rejected the couch (they don't accept furniture, apparently) and it was thus that my car was wounded. Good news: they reattached the bumper, replaced the hubcap, and repaired the side mirror. Two days after my car was returned, I parked at my parent's house and went to Thailand for a month. The first night I was back in San Francisco I parked on the street. The next morning, lo and behold, the entire casing of my other side mirror had vanished entirely. No plastic was on the street, and the mirror was not even scratched.
Now: the mirror is, again, fastened by an Ace bandage. I got pulled over by a cop car a couple of days ago and (so generous of them) received a fix-it ticket for the mirror. I have thirty days. My car clicks sporadically while driving and emits odd human-sounding noises. My brother broke the button that releases the gas tank cover. Every time I need gas I have to pry the cover open with a key or a screwdriver. My right front tire is flat. My power steering is no longer in existence. I have to manually open every door individually because for some unknown reason the unlock button is irritable and only works a fifth of the time. And even though I obviously have to unlock the car to get into it, half the time I turn my key in the lock, the car alarm detonates and loud, distressed beeping resounds in my ears and into my once-peaceful brain.

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