FILM AT ELEVEN FOR THOSE WHO NEED A GOOD LAUGH

I don't like to complain (who the hell am I kidding -- that's all I do) but this weather kind of sucks.  I break out the winter coat, the gloves, the fleece vest, the down vest, and the car auto-starter this week, all in the name of November.

The wind howls, the snow blows (albeit briefly), and the temperature plummets to 18 degrees with a wind chill of about zero (Fahrenheit, not Celsius).  At one point I realize that my car is parked near the back of the lot, and I know I will need to auto-start it in the morning.  It has been drizzling, but, now that the wind is whipping at about forty miles per hour, the temperature resembles the Arctic Circle mid-winter.  I go to move my car and discover ...

I have been iced out.

In my old car, I could open the back hatch, climb through, and be in my driver's seat in no time.  This car, though, is a sedan.  If the back doors are iced shut as well, I'm basically screwed unless I can get the trunk open, clean it out, push down the half-seat, and manage to squeeze my fat ass through the small crevice into the back seat.  Thankfully, the back door opens, and I only have to crab-crawl my way over the console, literally pulling my leg from behind using both arms and wedging my ass-cheeks into the steering wheel.

Which brings me to my major complaint: If I let my car warm up for more than five minutes, I risk being fined anywhere from $100 to $500.  Kids, if I cannot even get into my own car after a mere drizzle-freeze, what am I going to do when the real shit-storm hits December through March?  What if I am at five minutes and three seconds?  Am I now in the fine zone?  And if it only takes me three minutes to get into my car on a Monday, can I buy back those 120 seconds to apply them to another day during the week, say, Thursday morning?

I'm trying here, folks, but Mother Nature and the local police have to work with me.  If I can truly only have five minutes on an iced-over, eighteen-degree, windchill bad enough to cause instantaneous frostbite kind of morning, then either waive the extra fee or plan on watching me wedge my fat ass into the steering wheel via the back seat of the sedan every damn morning.

There.  Complaint over.  Film at eleven for those who need a good laugh.