How to Be an Adult in 10 Simple Steps8:05 AM
You know what separates the twenty-year-old kids from the twenty-year-old adults? Car trouble.
1. Look upon the perfectly preserved snow you tracked in a week ago on the driver's seat when you crawled to the back to find the windshield scraper because you left for work not realizing that it was winter and it's so cold that it never melted into a sad little wet spot to transfer onto your pants when you unwittingly sit down.
|Flashback to summer driving +|
failed attempts to pull off a Boho look
2. Start your engine! Or try to. That clicking noise doesn't sound too cute.
3. Mentally check off all the things Dad told you could go wrong with your vehicle last summer -- explosion, frozen washer fluid (hey, I should check my oil sometime when it's not a million degrees freezing), the flu, engine failure, WAS IT BECAUSE I LET MY TANK GET TO ZERO IN THE NEGATIVE DEGREE WEATHER? I wonder if the battery's dead.
4. Thank God that your father is a prominent enough person to be able to answer his daughter's frantic phone calls at any and all times during weekdays.
5. Discover with regret that your boyfriend is too scared of blowing your engine up to help you jump your car for the first time. Why did you date him, anyway?
6. Open up every single cubby hole in your trunk until you find the spankin' new jumper cables. Shiny.
7. Thank God again that in your youthful freshman days you befriended males possessing the knowledge of jumping cars.
8. Start your engine the next day with full confidence that your car's not going to explode or -- wait. Click, click, click. Are you even serious right now, Ford Escape?
9. Remind yourself to name car so that when it breaks down, you can yell guilt-inducing epithets in its general direction.
10. Repeat above steps but now include finding that helpful man again to take your battery out, drive you to Autozone that will lie to you about the perfectly healthy state of your terminally ill battery, wake your roommate up at 7:30 AM to drive to the Ford dealership, and after entering the magical automatic doors, befriend Jeff who laughs off your inability to even in the context of car ownership.
Bonus Point: Attempt to make small talk with the silent guy who drives you and your roommate back to school while your car gets fixed. (Look, sorry, I can't just let you sit there silently for fifteen minutes in the early morning. It's not you, it's me.)
The real thing that separates the girls from the women, though? The $205.37 bill Jeff hands you at the end of the longest four days of your life.