On 12.20.14, I posted this, but it turned out to be a lie. I certainly never set out to lie to you, dear reader, but it happened.
My car was resurrected from the dead, patched up, and declared fit to drive. I picked it up in February two days before the third massive snowfall in as many weeks. I grumbled something about evil spirits and gave my car the side eye as I shoveled it out again and again this (record setting) winter.
Despite the snow drifts suggesting otherwise and a lack of hope throughout the entire city, spring actually did arrive! My car and I were reunited as we made trips to the grocery store, condo open houses, and, you know, the usual, until the afternoon of 9.27.15 when brake lights were suddenly a lot closer than I expected, than they should be, and than they ever had been before.
On 10.1.15, after numerous phone calls and emails with my insurance company, I trudged to the underbelly of the auto shop, waded through the thick layer of dust, and said goodbye.
Despite it only having 64K miles on it, this car is from 1999, and has partied just like that. The fender bender left it more broken than bruised and so it was, for the second time, declared a total loss. For realsie. There was no patchwork or witchcraft or hocus pocus that could be done to save it. It only took about 5 minutes to gather up and clear out the remaining maps, phone charger, tire air pressure tools, EZ pass, bluetooth speaker, and license plates.
I left the snow brushes, 1/2 full bottle of road salt, and 1/4 full bottle of windshield washer fluid behind.
In the last lingering moments, I stood there with the mechanic by my side as I pondered how I got here, what shape would my life take now that I no longer own a car, and how he managed to unscrew and remove both my license plates in less than 30 seconds.
Maybe there is magic still crackling about?