How everyone in Kerrisdale and UBC was really attentive to me today
Let me first get the thing with B out of the way: meh. That is what I am going to say about that. I think I have been over analyzing the situation, reading too much into what his emails do or don’t mean, and acting as though he has some obligation to me, which he doesn’t. That said, I did go for dinner at his place on Sunday and: he is a good cook; we listened to some good music; we watched “Shaun of the Dead”; there was hand holding. I had an enjoyable time and am going to leave it at that.
Sadly, all the drama surrounding B cannot hold a flame to what happened to me today. From which I am still recovering. The result of which has made me what to find some Valium and go lie down for the rest of the week. I went to UBC to take my grandmother out for lunch today. I parked on the street (where I was not supposed to) and rang up to let her know I was here. She came down, we walked over to my car, I went to de-activate the alarm and… the alarm started. I could not turn it off. It was ear-splitting. I pressed the little button until I though I would shatter it, but nothing worked. Michael had mentioned some magical kill switch under the dash so I sprawled out on the road, head under the dash, sorting through various important-looking wires with the ear splitting wail of the alarm sending my blood pressure through the roof. No such luck. Several panicked phone calls to Michael later (with more talk about this magical red button) I arrived at the conclusion that I did not know what to do or who to call. The people living in the million dollar homes and condos surrounding my car must’ve been thrilled. Then my grandmother’s husband Ed came down and told me to try and start the car. I thought he must be daft: surely the car would not start. And yet it did. Great, bested by a 90 year old. Okay, nerves shattered, knuckles scraped raw from monkeying under the dash we go to Mahoney’s for lunch. Yes. Blood pressure starting to subside.
I paid $6 for parking and then went back to the car and opened it with my key. When I had exited the car I did NOT turn on the alarm because I was terrified of it. Once the door opened the alarm went off. I thought I was going to plotz. Okay, but Ed had proven that, by turning the engine on the alarm would turn off. Yeah, wasn’t working. Again, looking for the magic red button. Trying to figure out what to do. I asked my grandmother to go into the pub and ask if they could send someone round to help (I was thinking UBC security or some such thing). She manages to find the pub’s maintenance man who somehow turns it off. He suggests that perhaps I wasn’t pressing the alarm de-activate button hard enough. Uh, methinks I was. Nevertheless, I am quickly realizing that, due to the inconsistencies with the alarm, the problem is larger than I want to acknowledge. I have a stilted lunch with my grandmother, trying to pay attention to her and ask intelligent questions about my family members’ wellbeing, whilst becoming more and more anxious about the concept of trying to get into my car again. I had a beer.
Returning to the car after lunch I think there cannot be a problem: I had actually left the damn thing unlocked. No alarm, no key lock, nothing. I open the door. The car alarm goes off. I briefly consider crying. And then, it just gets better: a woman trying to pull into the parking space next to me hits my car. I say “what the fuck” but it’s okay, because no one can hear me over the ear-splitting alarm. The woman looks like she’s pushing 85. She is kind of confused. She parks her car, blocking traffic in the parking lot, to get out and talk to me. I advise her to pull in next to me so as not to impede traffic and so that we can exchange insurance info. Yeah. She is a Sister. I kid you not. She has a passenger who looks to be about 100 and is probably on the verge of a heart attack because of all the excitement, and Sister Mary says is it okay if she gets this woman to her appointment and then come back and swap details with me. I say sure, I do have some other LOUD issues to deal with. Some UBC faculty in white lab coats wandering by help me, as does an older asian man who has a Honda CRV and starts chatting up my nana. I have hope, as people in lab coats are smart, right? They all work together and soon the alarm is turned off again. I get in my car and drive my grandmother home. She invites me up and I say no thanks, I do not want to turn my car off yet. I slow down to about 5 kilometres per hour and encourage her to duck and roll.
I get back to Kerrisdale. I now have to open an ICBC claim and go through that whole process. God bless you, Sister. I park my car across from the giant hole in the ground where they are going to be erecting some damn pricey condos. I get home, I call an ICBC express place and they say they can take me at 3:30. I go back to my car. I open the door. The alarm goes off.
At this point, I am not even feigning an attempt to stop it. I see three guys at the job site (manly men), I walk over and calmly say that I have been having alarm issues all day and can they please disconnect my battery. One of the guys suggests pressing the de-alarm button. I smile wanly at him. I say no, please disconnect it. Another guy says “is it really your car?”. Funny! So one young guy gets under the dash and starts flipping all the fuses and – lo and behold! – finds the mythical “valet” switch that Michael had been referring to. It does not seem to be doing anything. People in the apartment building that I am parked in front of are looking out, wondering if it’s a car jacking or something. We pop the hood, I get in trouble for the amount of corrosion on my battery terminal and one of the guys muffles the alarm. Thank you, sweet jesus. Another guy goes and gets some pliers and snips the wire running to the alarm. All is silent. I want to kiss these guys. But now my car won’t start. So I can’t get it to the ICBC place to get an estimate for Sister Mary. I don’t care.
I go back to my apartment and call an alarm company. I try a couple more things that they suggest, but my car will not start. I don’t care. They have a mobile unit and are going to come and see me at 4pm on Wednesday. I said “okay, and while you are here, is it possible to have the alarm removed?”. He says yes. Fantastic. I am going to go old school and get the club. I hate car alarms. I hate my car alarm. I hate when people drive into my car while my car alarm is going off. I hate that my mom thinks that I am over-reacting. I would like to see anyone retain their sanity after their car alarm goes off four times and then someone drives into their car.
I don’t want to call ICBC today. I think I’ve had enough. I think I will do that tomorrow. I think it’s funny that no one can steal my car now because it won’t start. I think I will sleep with the guy that takes the alarm out on Wednesday because I have elevated him to a god-like status in my mind. I wonder if Sister Mary would approve.
Oh. It’s so quiet in my apartment right now.
Sadly, all the drama surrounding B cannot hold a flame to what happened to me today. From which I am still recovering. The result of which has made me what to find some Valium and go lie down for the rest of the week. I went to UBC to take my grandmother out for lunch today. I parked on the street (where I was not supposed to) and rang up to let her know I was here. She came down, we walked over to my car, I went to de-activate the alarm and… the alarm started. I could not turn it off. It was ear-splitting. I pressed the little button until I though I would shatter it, but nothing worked. Michael had mentioned some magical kill switch under the dash so I sprawled out on the road, head under the dash, sorting through various important-looking wires with the ear splitting wail of the alarm sending my blood pressure through the roof. No such luck. Several panicked phone calls to Michael later (with more talk about this magical red button) I arrived at the conclusion that I did not know what to do or who to call. The people living in the million dollar homes and condos surrounding my car must’ve been thrilled. Then my grandmother’s husband Ed came down and told me to try and start the car. I thought he must be daft: surely the car would not start. And yet it did. Great, bested by a 90 year old. Okay, nerves shattered, knuckles scraped raw from monkeying under the dash we go to Mahoney’s for lunch. Yes. Blood pressure starting to subside.
I paid $6 for parking and then went back to the car and opened it with my key. When I had exited the car I did NOT turn on the alarm because I was terrified of it. Once the door opened the alarm went off. I thought I was going to plotz. Okay, but Ed had proven that, by turning the engine on the alarm would turn off. Yeah, wasn’t working. Again, looking for the magic red button. Trying to figure out what to do. I asked my grandmother to go into the pub and ask if they could send someone round to help (I was thinking UBC security or some such thing). She manages to find the pub’s maintenance man who somehow turns it off. He suggests that perhaps I wasn’t pressing the alarm de-activate button hard enough. Uh, methinks I was. Nevertheless, I am quickly realizing that, due to the inconsistencies with the alarm, the problem is larger than I want to acknowledge. I have a stilted lunch with my grandmother, trying to pay attention to her and ask intelligent questions about my family members’ wellbeing, whilst becoming more and more anxious about the concept of trying to get into my car again. I had a beer.
Returning to the car after lunch I think there cannot be a problem: I had actually left the damn thing unlocked. No alarm, no key lock, nothing. I open the door. The car alarm goes off. I briefly consider crying. And then, it just gets better: a woman trying to pull into the parking space next to me hits my car. I say “what the fuck” but it’s okay, because no one can hear me over the ear-splitting alarm. The woman looks like she’s pushing 85. She is kind of confused. She parks her car, blocking traffic in the parking lot, to get out and talk to me. I advise her to pull in next to me so as not to impede traffic and so that we can exchange insurance info. Yeah. She is a Sister. I kid you not. She has a passenger who looks to be about 100 and is probably on the verge of a heart attack because of all the excitement, and Sister Mary says is it okay if she gets this woman to her appointment and then come back and swap details with me. I say sure, I do have some other LOUD issues to deal with. Some UBC faculty in white lab coats wandering by help me, as does an older asian man who has a Honda CRV and starts chatting up my nana. I have hope, as people in lab coats are smart, right? They all work together and soon the alarm is turned off again. I get in my car and drive my grandmother home. She invites me up and I say no thanks, I do not want to turn my car off yet. I slow down to about 5 kilometres per hour and encourage her to duck and roll.
I get back to Kerrisdale. I now have to open an ICBC claim and go through that whole process. God bless you, Sister. I park my car across from the giant hole in the ground where they are going to be erecting some damn pricey condos. I get home, I call an ICBC express place and they say they can take me at 3:30. I go back to my car. I open the door. The alarm goes off.
At this point, I am not even feigning an attempt to stop it. I see three guys at the job site (manly men), I walk over and calmly say that I have been having alarm issues all day and can they please disconnect my battery. One of the guys suggests pressing the de-alarm button. I smile wanly at him. I say no, please disconnect it. Another guy says “is it really your car?”. Funny! So one young guy gets under the dash and starts flipping all the fuses and – lo and behold! – finds the mythical “valet” switch that Michael had been referring to. It does not seem to be doing anything. People in the apartment building that I am parked in front of are looking out, wondering if it’s a car jacking or something. We pop the hood, I get in trouble for the amount of corrosion on my battery terminal and one of the guys muffles the alarm. Thank you, sweet jesus. Another guy goes and gets some pliers and snips the wire running to the alarm. All is silent. I want to kiss these guys. But now my car won’t start. So I can’t get it to the ICBC place to get an estimate for Sister Mary. I don’t care.
I go back to my apartment and call an alarm company. I try a couple more things that they suggest, but my car will not start. I don’t care. They have a mobile unit and are going to come and see me at 4pm on Wednesday. I said “okay, and while you are here, is it possible to have the alarm removed?”. He says yes. Fantastic. I am going to go old school and get the club. I hate car alarms. I hate my car alarm. I hate when people drive into my car while my car alarm is going off. I hate that my mom thinks that I am over-reacting. I would like to see anyone retain their sanity after their car alarm goes off four times and then someone drives into their car.
I don’t want to call ICBC today. I think I’ve had enough. I think I will do that tomorrow. I think it’s funny that no one can steal my car now because it won’t start. I think I will sleep with the guy that takes the alarm out on Wednesday because I have elevated him to a god-like status in my mind. I wonder if Sister Mary would approve.
Oh. It’s so quiet in my apartment right now.
posted by Duder at 4:19 PM
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