Nothing is worse than running out to your car at 4:55 on Friday afternoon after a long and grueling week, throwing in your platter from the carrot cake muffins you brought in for your co-workers, the box of recyclables that was stored under your desk all week and your heavy book-bag for all those texts you didn't indulge in during your lunch break and then ... nothing. Your car doesn't start. How wretched is that?!
Your co-worker's husband is nice enough to open the hood, look through the manual and hypothesize with you over probabilities, but nothing. You get back to your office to call roadside assistance, but all the car shops are closed, because as you and I well know, car emergencies only occur between 9 and 5. Duh.
So, it's 5:35 on my Friday evening and I'm waiting to hitchhike my way home, instead of flopping on my couch with my September Bon Appetit. How droll.