This is why I am going to die alone.

new-car

The story begins, as so many of my stories do, with my car.

I finally ditched my Alero in December, and bought a brand-new Subaru to replace it. There were many reasons for this, but a big one was that I’d finally have a problem-free car. And the first three months were great. It handles well in the snow and had a lot of the bells and whistles I wanted.

Then, about a month ago, somebody backed into it at exactly the perfect angle to put a lovely crack in the bumper.

Because it is apparently impossible for me to have no car problems for longer than three months.

I dropped the car off on Monday to get the bumper replaced and was handed the keys to a Chevy Impala by a rather attractive representative from the rental car company (we’ll call him Hot Guy for the rest of the story). Hot Guy and I chatted for maybe 10ish minutes while we waited for another representative to actually deliver said Impala, during which conversation it was mentioned that they sell a lot of their rental vehicles with no warning. The car showed up, we inspected it, and I drove off to work.

As a note, I strongly disliked the Impala’s handling, but that was okay, since the repair shop’s time estimates put me back in my own car by Tuesday evening. I could handle 36 hours in that car, right?

Tuesday evening I got a call from my insurance company, saying that the shop had received a damaged part – twice – and maybe I’d get my car back by Friday evening? Maybe?

So, clearly, I’d be stuck with the Impala for a few more days. Which meant that I started more actively fidgeting with it…specifically with the radio presets.

Fast forward to this morning.

I drive half an hour to work every day. Sometimes I carpool, but today I was on my own. So music is important to me for that long of a drive. Since my CDs are  in my own car, and since my favorite radio station has obnoxious morning DJs until 9 a.m., I station-surfed for a while…until I rediscovered WOES, a radio station run by the Ovid-Elsie school district, which plays…polka.

If you don’t know me, the one thing you should know is that I LOVE terrible things. I find them hilarious. Which is why I, say, host an annual Bad Christmas Movie Night (featuring the classic Santa Claus Conquers the Martians). This may or may not explain why I decided that it would be an awesome idea to change one of the Impala’s presets to the polka station, and why I listened to it for the last 10 minutes or so of my drive.

About an hour after I got to work, I got a phone call from the rental car company saying, guess what, they sold the Impala and could I please come in and switch it out for a different vehicle. So I hopped in the car, polka music blaring, and drove over to the rental place. Idly, I wondered if Hot Guy would be there.

He was, of course, though he wasn’t the one waiting on me. While Other Guy was switching my paperwork, Hot Guy drove my new rental car  to the front of the building for me to inspect.

The new rental car is a Chrysler 300 – if not a luxury car, then certainly more luxurious than any car I’ve ever driven. We’re talking leather seats, satellite radio, and a push-button start instead of keys. So, not just the sort of vehicle you can hop in and drive away.

Which explains why I was still sitting there in the parking lot when I saw Hot Guy walk over to the Impala, with the radio still set to the dulcet tones of WOES: The Polka Palace, and drive out of sight.

Posted in personal, singleness Tagged with: , ,
4 comments on “This is why I am going to die alone.
  1. Elizabeth says:

    Hey, for all you know he could be a polka fan!

  2. Katie B. says:

    Love it! 🙂

  3. kevin somers says:

    I run the station. I love this story!

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