LD's Guide to Japan

is the current status of my flight to Portland.  Let’s hope it doesn’t get any worse than that.

I’m waiting at LAX, Terminal 3, Gate 33A.  As much as I usually hate waiting for flights, I’m very relieved to be here.  I left my apartment way early (luckily) so I could get some errands done before heading to the airport, only to find my car giving me attitude.

First she wouldn’t even let me in.  I’ve got a Prius with the smartkey so I don’t even have to take the key out of my pocket to unlock the door, but it wasn’t working, so I had to manually unlock the door.  As soon as I did so, the girl started yelling at me.  The alarm starts wailing and hollering, and pushing the buttons on the remote to try to shut her up only made her scream louder, the bitch.

After I finally got the alarm to shut off and loaded my luggage into her, she wouldn’t start.  I tried over and over again, spouting words of encouragement—gently at first (“come on, baby. you can do it”), but after repeated failures I steadily rose up into a furious tirade (“I can’t believe you’re gonna do this shit to me, you fucking whore!  After everything I’ve fucking done for you!  Do I not treat you right?!  Do I not satisfy your every need?!  You goddamn bitch!!”) punctuating each beat with a slap across the wheel or dashboard.

When it became clear that she was too stubborn to budge, no matter how much I battered her, my temper subsided and I conceded to calling the Toyota dealer, begging with him like a marriage counselor, trying to get him to take my side, blaming her for all of our problems.  You see what madness she drives me to (pun intended).

We waited in silence for AAA to arrive—our mutual friend who always ends up mediating our disputes—and you could feel the tension between us; neither of us willing to admit fault.  He had a calming effect on each of us, and gave us a jump start so we could at least enter into a conversation with each other.  In the end we decided it would be best if we spent some time apart.  I took her to her mother’s (the dealership) and I left for the airport alone, defeated.

So, it’s been a rough morning. I really do feel like I’ve gotten in a huge fight with a significant other—that’s how much I love my car.  It gives me anxiety to even think about it.  For the ladies that are reading this, though, I feel like I should say that I have never, ever beaten a woman, and I intend to keep it that way.