I Almost Feel Bad About Interrupting His Donut Break

If you will recall, earlier this week, I was bitching about having to drive my car back to neighboring city to have the fuckwads mechanics at the dealership fix the fan relay sensor thingie-mabob in my engine. I bitched about having to do it because

1) It meant having to take time away from work, time that I really don’t have to spare this week,

2) it meant driving almost an hour each way and gas, although cheaper, is not free and

3) the fan thingie-mabob was working just fine when I took the car in to have the rear windshield wiper squirter thingie-mabob (not to be confused with the engine fan thingie-mabob) fixed so, what the hell?

It’s like going to the dentist to have a nice routine cleaning and ending up needing a full set of dentures because the hygienist accidentally dropped that giant overhead light on your face.

Exactly the same.

And, now; I really have reason to bitch because, guess what I got while on my way to have (what turned out to be an almost totally unnecessary) “repair” done on my car?

A speeding ticket.

A goddamned speeding ticket.

For going four-to-nine miles over the posted speed limit while worrying that I was going to be late to an appointment which, once I got to the dealership turned out to be not so much an “appointment” as a “vague estimate of a time in which the car should be at the dealership prior to sitting for an hour and a half before it is even looked at”…..

…pause for deep breathing…

….and we’re good.

So, yeah. I got my first speeding ticket in sixteen years.

And the officer didn’t even offer me a bite of his donut.