This weekend I decided to tackle some Christmas shopping on Saturday, thinking myself clever for beating the masses.
I started by heading to Eastern Market on Capitol Hill, where the outdoor artists are set up. I got there fine – but then ended up circling for a parking space for 20 minutes before announcing, “You know what, Eastern Market? I got a big ‘F’ and and big ‘U’ here for ya. Merry Christmas,” and speeding away without exiting my car.
Since I was clearly in the Christmas spirit, I decided to proceed to Target, where I didn’t buy gifts for anyone but did stock up on some essentials for myself, including: a crockpot, a toaster oven, a pizza cutter, a meat thermometer and some firelogs. To all my married friends: this is what it looks like when you don’t have a registry – you buy shit for yourself!
The wheel on my shopping cart was broken, which shouldn’t have been a big deal. But because I had three rather heavy items in the cart, it was like trying to push a stubborn hippo out to my car. Simply not budging. By the time I got to my car, I had worked up an appetite, so I devoured the pack of Tic Tacs I had just purchased before leaving the parking lot.
I looked at the clock and realized I still had an hour to kill before I could drop by my friend Margaret’s new place in Old Town (Alexandria). Naturally, I decided to go to Trader Joe’s to stock up on wine for Thanksgiving. That only took 30 minutes, so in an attempt to stretch things out, I bounced over to Le Village Marche, a boutique in Shirlington that sells French gifts. I’d actually only heard of it the week before because they had advertised a Groupon – spend $25 for a $50 store credit.
I approached the store, thinking it might be a struggle to use the entire Groupon. Minutes later I was swiping my credit card for another $75 outlay… but did manage to pick up a couple good hostess gifts and a print of a vintage French postcard on glass for myself. And this is where I should’ve just stopped the day.
But I didn’t. Instead, I walked back to my car, deposited my items in the truck, went to start it and…
I would say “nothing” happened when I put my key in the ignition, but that would be inaccurate. A LOT actually happened – it was as if my car were possessed by Satan: the CD changer started cranking through discs in rapid succession, the information panel flashed all the lights at me, pronounced “Steering Failure” and went dark. Once I removed the key from the ignition, the information light started flashing, the radio turned itself on and I decided to back the f*ck away before my car trapped me inside it and started spraying battery acid into my eyes.
Oh, and my car wouldn’t start.
Apparently, while I was busy being possessed by Santa, my car was possessed by Satan.
pithypants 
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