I could make a joke about bad car-ma here, but won't. The fact of the matter is that my Escort (which regular readers may recall was purchased in desperation after the tragic demise of my beloved Corolla) has bit the dust. After a joyous and highly entertaining weekend in San Francisco and Santa Cruz, I returned home Sunday night to a car that wouldn't start. No problem, says I, it's been sitting for a few days—I'll just pump the gas a little and give it a good rev.

No dice.

After about 20 minutes of fussing and fuming, I call AAA, who shows up a half hour later (at midnight, by this point) with the magic jumper box. Great! I think, he'll hook it up, spark, spark, I'm on my way.

Nope again.

After about 20 minutes of various treatments, jump start guy throws in the towel and calls for a tow. While we're waiting for the truck, he pushes the car to the Spiral of Death™ that is the exit ramp from the Sea-Tac parking garage. He gives us a little shove, hops in, and my Escort is now the world's largest go-kart, careening down the ramp in neutral while jump start guy prays that the ticket line has a gap that will let us pull off to the side.