Journal

Bad Carma

I’ve had a string of calls from Crazy Uncle John today, all related in one way or another to the Neon I just sold him. Normally to have a day like this you have to be Norman Wisdom or Jim Carey. Or, as it turns out, just being Crazy Uncle John will do.

First call he made was regarding the car battery being flat and that he couldn’t figure how to open the hood in order to get to it. Despite a warning chime sounding if you so much as think about leaving the car with the lights on, Crazy Uncle John had managed to leave them on all night and the battery was as dead as a doornail. After explaining where the release mechanism was, he went off to sort it and all was well for a while.

I decided to call him back later on, just to see if he had it all sorted. He was in the process of pushing the car along the road so that he was far enough away from home so that the RAC would come out to him. I left him to it, but I pictured the scene in my head and it seemed kind of funny.

A while after this he calls back having managed to get the car started, but rolling over a nail somewhere along the line had given him a puncture and he had to pay a substantial amount to replace the tyre. I agreed that this was bad luck, but was glad he had the car started again.

All goes quiet for an hour or so before I get a call asking where the remote release is for the trunk. I tell him it’s in the glove compartment, he thanks me and hangs up. It’s less than sixty seconds before he calls again.

I have no idea how, and neither does he at this point in time, but somehow he has locked himself out of the car with only the trunk being open. Better still, the keys are in the ignition and the engine is running. If it wasn’t for the tone of his voice I would think he was taking the piss with this latest revelation.

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