Lemony Snicket's Wet Dream

Today, I ran out of gas.

Shitty, right? And it's only the beginning. Nothing bad ever happens to me. It's always multiple bad things that happen one after the other in an ironically orderly fashion. Whoever inflicts this chaos upon me is one organized mother fucker. I picture the stereotypical devil laughing maniacally in a sea of flames, except my devil does this in a three-piece suit as he sits behind a mahogany desk holding a ballpoint pen and an iPad.

So not only does my car run out of gas, but it also runs out in the middle of the road when I was mid-merge. So now, my car is taking up two lanes. Since one wasn't bad enough.

Then, it begins to rain. And not a light sprinkle, but a torrential downfall.

And then my phone beeps. "Low battery." This had already become the premise to one of Lemony Snicket's wet dreams.

I call my friend to come get me, and as I sit there waiting for her rescue, the first car pulls up.

"Are you okay?" the young couple asks me.

"Yeah, I'm sorry! I ran out of gas! I feel like such an IDIOT!"

One pity laugh later, and they have parked behind me and both gotten out.

"Put on your hazard lights," the man suggests.

I try. They turn on for two seconds, and then they break.

"They don't work!" I inform him.

"Let me see."

He sees. This doesn't make them work.

"Put your car in neutral and we'll push it to the side of the road."

I try. The stick is stuck.

"I can't! It's stuck in park!"

"Let me try."

He tries. He can't. It's still stuck.

"My friend should be here any minute to drive me to get gas. You guys can go. Thank you SO MUCH for your help though!"

They nod and leave. I am now soaked.

The second person to arrive was a shirtless man who came out of nowhere. He just ran up to my car, asked if I was okay, and then jogged off. How exactly was he planning to help me, anyway? The guy was running around half-naked in a storm. He was either a careless jogger or an amateur streaker. Either way, not to be trusted.

Some guy in a truck pulled up next. I couldn't understand a word he said, and after my sixth, "WHAT?" he drove off. By this point, I was getting sick of caring human beings. But I had thought too soon.

"I saw you when I drove past and I just had to turn around and check on you, dear!" some old lady said to me as she stood crouched outside of my car door. Oh yeah, my windows don't roll down, so every time someone pulled up to me, I had to open my car door. Have I mentioned it was pouring?

"Thank you, I'm fine. I just ran out of gas."

"Well I was just in church praying for God's mercy and thanking him for his glory so I had to make sure you were okay!"

What?

"The Lord has been with you today, my dear!"

Uh...no? No he has not? I ran out of gas in the middle of the fucking road. IN A STORM. If he's with me, then he must be drunk.

"Ooooooh!"

I didn't quite understand this noise she made, so I assumed she was speaking in tongues. I think it translated to, "come here," because this is when she grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my car and embraced me. Thanks for the hug, lady. Did the Lord give you any money to dish out, by chance?

Another person arrives to help, but by the time, my friend had showed up.

"Should we call the cops to direct traffic?" she suggests.

I call 911, and as I'm explaining my situation, my phone dies. We go to get gas, but after putting it in my car, my car won't start. We call triple A, and they inform me that I've used up my service calls for the year.

CAN IT GET ANY WORSE.

The towing guy arrives and after picking up my car, we head to my house. He asks me if I partied a little too hard last night. I say what? He says nevermind. Once we've reached our destination, I hand him my card to pay the thirty dollar towing fee. It gets declined.

YES. YES IT CAN GET WORSE.

So there I stand, in the pouring rain, watching the evil towing man kidnap poor Vincent (my Volvo) and drive away. I sulk into my home and call work to let them know I'll be walking there and I may be a little late. I hang up and wait for the rain to stop.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

It doesn't stop.

By the time I entered the restaurant that I work at, I was soaked. An hour later, after my hair had dried, I looked like a disco dancer from a 70s night club. Except John Travolta was nowhere to be found.

Natasha - gasoline = evil towing man. Natasha + evil towing man = no car. Natasha - car = walking to work. Walking to work + pouring rain = wet hair. Natasha + wet hair = afro. Afro = bullshit.