When I was but a wee sevlet, I went to a friend’s birthday party out in Baltimore. Since I was but a wee sevlet, I had to get my parents to give me a ride. They did, of course, but when I called and told them it was over, they didn’t show.
Two hours later, I found out the reason. The reason, of course, was Baltimore. A character of the sort one gets out there had been driving drunk in the middle of the day. And had smashed into the side of my mother’s car.
My family is not particularly rich, but it is particularly tall. The prospect of buying a new car was not appealing. The insurance company said it was totaled, but what the hell kind of cracker gives a damn about that?
My uncle happened to have a car of the same model, albeit a few years older, and the same condition, which it got into by contributing to the noble cause of controlling the local deer population. “Gee,” we thought, “these two cars are both totaled, but they’re totaled in different places. If we take these two totaled cars and put them together, we can have one car that works.” So he cannibalized the car for parts, loaded them in his pickup truck, and drove over.
Car models change over the years, so it wasn’t a trivial task. I don’t remember what we did. I do remember that it involved duct tape, a tennis ball, and a copy of Jimmy Carter’s autobiography. I swear I am not making this up.
Once we were done, we looked at each other and went:
Is anyone going to drive this fucking thing?
So we hauled it to the dump.
Oh fuck me I’m glad I’m a Systems Programmer
How do webdevs even sleep at night