Since my dad is never going to drive again as long as we can keep car and keys from meeting, I decided to try and sell the thing. Lo and behold, it is actually a piece of shit. It is 16-years-old, so that shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it was fine last year, and I was led to believe that it was in pretty good shape.
Since my friend is not going to buy this piece of shit after all, we decided to bring it back to Dad’s and let it rot in the driveway, since one of Dad’s meltdown triggers is this car. Unfortunately, the car decided to make its last stand next to a curb in Jersey.
It is dead. Not mostly dead, but completely and utterly dead, dead, dead.
I was going to have it junked, but now dad is melting down daily because the car isn’t there. So I’m going to have to pay several hundred dollars to have a dead car towed back to Queens so my dad can see it from the window and calm his shit down.
This is what I get for taking initiative. Initiative: bad.
When my responsibility to my dad is over, I am going to crawl into a hole with a stack of books and some yarn and crochet hooks and never come out, because I never want to be responsible for another person’s well being ever again.
