I’ve been lucky enough for the past year and a half to be able to drive my father’s car. It comes with its own set of challenges and responsibilities, but I truly treat that car as if its my own. I drive a 2011 black Honda Civic, which I call Marisa, after the actress Marisa Tomei, don’t ask me why it’s just fitting.
I don’t like to complain about the car too much because I’m just grateful that I have access to it.
With that being said.
The car comes with its own set of surface problems such as the sun damage that it has taken on the hood and trunk, one of the back doors that cannot be opened from the inside, the air conditioning that genuinely doesn’t want to pump cool air during the summer which makes me feel like I’m sitting directly in the seventh circle of hell, and this odd little piece of material that sticks upwards when the wind is strong, making it look like I’m driving the Batmobile.
This is the ‘wing’ as I like to call it
That last issue was bothering me for the longest time because it was so strange. I’m pretty sure this happened because of the high-pressure water being shot onto the car at a gas station car wash. If any family members are reading this, you didn’t hear that from me though.
So..why am I going into such detail about this? Well, that’s because my patience was ultimately tested trying to fix this one piece of material that was sticking up to the point where I almost began to question my own sanity.
This past Thursday, I got home from school and saw on the foyer table that one of my parents had bought “Krazy Glue”. I had an hour and a bit to spare before I had to go to work so I thought, ‘why not fix that piece of the car’?
Here’s where God began to test me.
Now, I’m all for child-proofing certain items that are sold in stores to keep kids safe from doing stupid shit, I get it, 100%. But is there a single solitary reason as to why these containers, in which the glue is kept in, were made by the Government to keep any one from opening this damn thing? I still think that this tiny glass container was created by the Antichrist.
The lid said “Push down and twist to open”. I have no reason to doubt this container lid. So, I press and begin to twist. Now, I won’t lie to you, I’m built like a pencil, so there’s not a whole ton of brute force that can come out of a 5’5 Italian, but in my defense, I was putting as much effort as I could.
This is the spawn from hellfire and brimstone that I fought with for 30 minutes.
Trying to get the lid of this thing went from ‘Ha ha, can’t open it’, to ‘Why did God put us on this Earth’ very quickly. The slow descent into madness that I had would’ve given Jack Nicholson from “The Shining” a run for his money. I began to question my own sanity. Was I really even there? Is God testing me? Is this plastic container an analogy for the meaning of life? Did Nostradamus predict this?
I went from questioning what I had done to the universe to be in the position I was in, to rageful in a split second.
I grabbed the bastard of a container and started to slam it on a nearby table in my garage a consecutive 17 times. I then proceeded to throw it against the wall in a fit of testosterone-fuelled rage. This piece of shit wouldn’t budge, I began to think it was an FBI informant because of its sheer resiliency.
I decided that nothing was working, so I grabbed the hammer. I instantly realized I would have to explain what happened to my Italian mother, which would’ve been a worse than having to open the glue container, so I put the hammer back down. Finally, I used a flat-head screwdriver, and popped the lid right off. You would’ve thought I was Tom Hanks making fire in “Cast Away”.
The crime scene
The end result
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