More Proof that God Hates Me

Today a co-worker of mine came up to me and asked if I was the one in the parking lot the other night, standing in the rain with a bag over my head.

The answer to that question was yes; and let me explain to you why that is.

It's a dark, dingy evening. The parking lots are flooded from the heavy rains brought on from, I can only assume, Hurricane Katrina. After a long, hard day's work of standing around and doing nothing, I am eager to retreat to the comfort of home and a good 14 hours sleep. Excitedly I race out of the now broken elevator and burst through the backdoor of the store... straight into a freezing-ass cold monsoon (The scientific name for it). Like a frightened mouse, I find myself slinking back into the store.

Then I remember... plastic shopping bags! "Genius", I think... and immediately run behind the nearest register, grab a fashionable baggy, and don the slick-looking, new hat over my head.

Filled with a new sense of courage and determination, I slip outdoors and triumphantly run to my car, all the while praying that no one will hit a blind, bag-head girl.

After three miles of running through the rain (it could have been more like three feet... but who's counting?) I finally reach my destination. I have defied and braved the elements, and can finally bid farewell to the hell-hole in which I am forced to work every day....

Or so I thought.

I turn the key in the ignition with one swift move - and nothing. Not a sound. Not a cough or a rattle. I am stranded in my car, in the middle of the night, whilst the sky falls all around me (In the form of water, no less!).

...and this is basically the point of the story. All nonesense aside, I had a loose connection to my battery - all I have to do is wiggle a few wires, get lucky, and the car should start enough to get me home. The problem is that the rain is nonestop and is truly pounding down like nobody's biz. Eventually though, after the first signs of heat exhaustion and a whole lot of whimpering, I decide "Screw you, waiting for the rain to slow down!" I then squeel and run out into the treacherous flood; then I squeel again and run back into the sanctity of the car. This part of the story repeats itself four times.

Word to the wise: Bags do not keep you very dry.

Finally, my car starts... and I drive along on my merry way*.

... But apparently not before my co-workers got a nice glimpse of me drenched, with a big, white bag over my head, working under the hood of my car. I can only imagine some of the theories they came up with.




*Merry way* - Soaking fucking wet to the undergarments, and cold and rain-smelly as hell.