My parents sold off my Honda CRV so I've been left with my mom's Benz. Hardy har har, make the rich girl jokes, but I'm poor as fuck, people, and to be honest, I still have no idea how my dad swung that buy. Some people have assumed that my dad knows the Triad or has performed some underhanded deal. I really would not be surprised at either.
So for fifteen minutes, I sat in the car, trying to figure out where the latch, button, or key for the gas tank lid was. FIFTEEN MINUTES: of searching, careful inspection of every single button, slamming my head on the wheel, hiding from white gangsters, telling shady creepy men I had no money to spare, reading every single page in the car manual, and cursing the world for building such a complex machine. Then I called my mom with bowed head and shame pouring from my ears.
That shame turned to steam as she explained that the lid is a flip lid, a la a see-saw, where there was no key required, no button to press, no latch to hold. It's not even spring loaded. My god, this car will kill me. I know it. So on my epitaph, I would like the following words: Screw you, German Autobahns.
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