I love my car. Two years ago I was driving a old chevy lumina and when it came time for some high dollar repairs, I decided it was time to replace it instead. I went all out, and bought a “Limited” edition fully loaded 2013 Dodge Dart. This car has leather seats, a sun roof, GPS, a backup camera – every luxury that was available. It’s very nice, and I really like it.
I have put this car through it’s paces too. I have driven it on roads that it shouldn’t have been on. I have taken it up one lane mountain roads, through streams, over bridges with holes in them, on dirt roads that could barely be considered roads, and even (by mistake) into sand dunes. I’ve had to take the tires in for repairs several times now, having come out to drive it on a Monday morning only to discover that the weekends’ activities have taken a toll.
We’ve had magnificent, life changing adventures, and we’ve got through all of it without a scratch. Sure, the tires have taken a beating, but tires are easily fixable.
Last Thursday, I slipped into the local Barnes and Noble to do some early Christmas shopping. I didn’t buy anything, but I found what I am going to get for someone very special to me. When I came out of the store, I discovered this:
Of course, I recognize in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t that bad. It could have been worse. I could have been in the Dart. It could have happened on the highway, or worse, on some mountain somewhere with no way to get to safety.
It turns out, after I’ve taken this thing all over Oregon and parts of Washington, Utah, Idaho, Nevada, and California, the most dangerous place for it to be is the parking lot of the Barnes and Noble. How stupid is that?