My mother's 1996 Ford Thunderbird is having problems. I get a call while I'm out running errands at work, and Mom left a message saying, "Call me when you get this." Which is the message I got when she went into the hospital. Thinking "Oh shit," I called her back, wondering if she's alright and thinking about those tornadoes that hit last night. And she tells me her car isn't working and she's at my uncle's work, a NAPA store at the opposite end of town. She borrowed his truck for a while, but couldn't use it for the rest of the day and needed my car. I told her to call me when she had to return the truck, which ended up being around lunch time.
I ended up keeping my car for the day, dropping Mom back off at her work and picking her up at the end of the day. All of the family car geeks checked it out, and it looks like the catalytic converter blew out. Right now, we're debating if it's fixable, if it's worth fixing, and what we're going to do in the meantime. I think I'm going to be taking my mom to work, since it's on the way.
Luckily, Mom's bad luck didn't pass on to me much further than having some of my soda spilled in my car. Instead, I actually found my copies of The Golden Compass and The Subtle Knife (books 1 and 2 in the His Dark Materials series) that had been missing for four or five years now.
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