No luck – for the third time this week, my Smart Car is too cold to move.
One of my neighbours, who I’ve never seen before, stops to ask if I need a push. He’s holding a small dog. While I suppose it’s not unrealistic to imagine a Smart Car could get stuck in the frickin’ parking lot, I’m a little embarrassed to explain that my car doesn’t like the winter.
I run back upstairs for Dawson’s keys. He drives an old beat up Dodge Caravan (brings back memories – I had two), but it always starts. It just has other problems – like the fact you can’t ever take the e-brake off. Or that you have to rev it to over 3000 RPM before it will kick into drive. Halfway down the block, the engine light comes on.
I’m going to die.
I have less than 25 minutes to get to my very last final of my undergraduate career and I’m going to die in an old jalopy similar to the first vehicle I ever drove – and that will be the cruelest irony.
I curse the red lights because I’m worried if I stop it might not get started again.
I coast into the university parking lot with minutes to spare and race to my exam room.
My fingers and my toes are freezing. Saskatchewan is a beautiful place. Let’s get this shit over with!
Three and a half hours later I am done. I don’t remember what the essay topics were about. Something about Jean Paul Sartre and another about the Nouveau Roman. I don’t remember either of my theses.
I am done.