"The back brakes are shot, I mean really, it's a wonder you're not dead. And the rear shocks are completely stuffed. You'll probably get another 10,000 k's from the front brakes if you're lucky. Your two front tyres are kaput, they'll need replacing. If I use reconditioned parts, then add labour, plus 10% for GST, you're looking at about $2,200…"
Just the words I wanted to hear this morning at the garage. Golden Boy™ has been declared "stuffed".
After a brief period of hyperventilation, I did what any motor-savvy intelligent independent woman would do – call her father.
"Jesus fucking christ Daaaaaad! I don't have two thousand dollars! I wouldn't even get two thousand dollars if I sold the car! I only asked for a service and look what's happened!"
Granted, I hadn't had it serviced since September, and I'd been ignoring that faint crunching sound coming from the rear for a week or two, but I didn't think I could have inflicted that much damage on a car that was in brilliant condition when I bought it just on a year ago.
Dad told me that the mechanic must be "a shonky fuckwit" and asked me to put him on. Much grunty blokey talk followed and finally they agreed to just replace the brake pads for now and Dad (a former mechanic) would check out the rest him to ensure I wouldn't be swindled into getting unnecessary work done.
(As a kid I used to ponder the question, what would be the most convenient occupation for ones parents to have? Aside from Completely Rich Bastard, of course. I used to envy kids who's folks ran corner shops, coz they'd get free icecreams and lollies all the time. Or the kid who's dad ran the local pool, coz you could swim for free all the time, you could do bombs and run on the concrete and never get in trouble. Plus free icecreams and lollies.
Anyway, people used to say I was lucky to have a teacher mum, coz she could do my homework for me, which of course she never did, she wouldn't even help us if we asked her how to spell something, "I didn't spend $50 on that Macquarie for it to gather dust! Look it up!". I'm now convinced that having a mechanic for a father is really quite nice, he's saved me from being ripped off about a dozen times, he's patched the car up on the sly when I crashed it so mum wouldn't have to find out. Etcetera)
$400 later my car is serviced and the brakes patched up. Still got to fork out for two new tyres.
Needless to say my Get The Fuck Outta Dodge fund is non-existent now. And of course all this happens at the same time the electricity, home contents, and three phone bills arrive, not to mention physio fees. Being an adult SUCKS, I tells ya. I long to be 16 again, earning $4.65 an hour at KFC and having no bills and my biggest responsibility was remembering to feed Lenin, my goldfish. I hate maturity! I hate responsibility! I hate being in debt! I hate having a car! AAAAARGH! AAAAAARGH!
Okay, that was fun. Meanwhile, it's been pouring rain here for four days straight. Our backyard is looking very third-world-slum-after-a-flood-ish. Harry, illustrated below, is absolutely filthy. His arse is brown from sitting in the mud, his fur is clumped together with chunks of dirt and leaves, he's been moaning and whimpering for twenty-four hours straight. But please, no sympathy for the little bugger. He has a perfectly dry kennel with cosy blankets that I forked out $110 for, and he stubbornly refuses to go near it.
I'm not entirely mean though. I set off to Supabarn just now to buy him some posho dog food, to try and ease the pain that comes from being perpetually soaked. I eventually went with that old chesnut, My Dog – Beef Strips In Sauce With Spring Vegetables, but noticed they're stocking some new varities. And damn dodgy looking ones, which is saying something since it's dog "food" we're talking here.
As endorsed by some cartoon down with a crown.
Bounce! Now with 50% more bounce in every can. What is the "bounce" in Bounce, anyway? Amphetamines? Pig trotters?
Chappi. Hehe. Chappi.
I hope someone else finds those amusing. Please say it's not just me. I might go back to Supabarn and stake out the display and see if anyone else laughs.