I got back from Boston tonight to find that my car battery was inexplicably dead. The battery is not, of course, under the hood, but, because this is a fucking over-rated European piece of shit it's under the fucking back seat. Who in their fucking right mind would put anything under the fucking back seat? No one, that's who. No one but the damn-them-to-a-hell-of-driving-nothing-but-Pinto-station-wagons (my first car out of college) German car designers. So the guys at the parking place rip the back seat out, jump the battery and the car starts. And the alarm starts. And the lights flash. And the horn beeps. And this won't stop. All. the. fucking. way. home. Mercedes customer support explains that the only way to get the alarm to stop is to stop the car, turn it off, lock it and unlock it. When I explain that if I turn the car off it's likely not to start again, they have no other suggestions. Assholes.

So on the way home I pass a sheriff's car and a police car. While my car's lights are flashing and the horn is blaring. An advertisement for car theft. Do they stop me? Do they even look my way? I could have been in the process of being abducted and hit the panic button, but they didn't even give me a second glance. Probably just as well since the language above would have been mild compared to the way I would have reacted to being pulled over.

There. All that profanity made me feel better. That and hitting the car with my pocketbook when I got home. Although my hand does hurt a little now.