My darling Joe, a man of tremendous fortitude and almost impossibly optimistic nature, is having a bad week.

Joe has a terrible old sky blue pickup that he uses to move gear around. The thing can’t be trusted to move people around since it fails frequently, and it is my belief that the whole truck is held together simply by force of habit. (Joe says that’s not true, and duct tape and twist ties need the credit they deserve.) Every couple of months another piece falls off, or Joe discovers that it has an odd new quirk (like you have to keep the clutch in a little bit all the time that you are driving, or that second gear is suddenly not available unless you keep the window rolled down) and long ago it became the sort of car that only he can drive, since the list of work-arounds required to make it go is too complex for anyone else to learn.

On his way home from somewhere a while ago, the brake light came on…and it turned out, as Joe discovered in a fairly traumatic incident that shouldn’t be discussed, that this was because the truck had opted out of having brakes. (Though largely, Joe learns a way to live with the trucks failings….even he agreed that brakes were sort of important.) Joe somehow got it to the garage, convinced a guy there that it could be rehabilitated, and asked them if they would fix the rust (so that pieces stop falling off) and repaint the back of the beast while they were at it.

A few days later, Joe needed to be in Welland (a couple of hours away) and borrowed his dad’s car to make the trip. On the way there, as Joe drove responsibly and legally through a green light, an 18 year old girl in her dads car (bad day for the dads) turned left directly into him at a good clip, and while Joe was fine, his dad’s car was trashed. Now, we don’t have to get into the embarrassment of getting your dad’s car trashed when you are almost 40…but you can assume it’s substantial. Rough day, but Joe laughed it off.

Luckily, the truck was fixed, so Joe went to the bank to withdraw the cash to pay for it. Imagine his shock when he tried to withdraw cash, and was told he didn’t have any. Apparently, sometime while he was driving around with no brakes or being smashed in a car accident, he was the victim of identity theft. (Joe would like to take a moment to point out the irony of having his identity stolen the week that nobody in their right mind would want to be him) and felons unknown had emptied every single dime out of his bank account. Joe, possessing the optimism and good nature mentioned above, called the bank and sorted it out, (the money is back) and spent the rest of the day changing passwords, reopening accounts and generally rewiring his life.

Done this (and rather done himself) he got a buddy to drive him to the garage, where he discovered that for reasons that are as mysterious as the movement of the stars, the rear of the truck, while now rust free…had been painted a different colour than the front. The garage has offered to fix it, so Joe sighed, made a date to get that done, (a day after his dad’s car has been fixed) pulled out of the garage….

and was soundly and firmly rear ended at a stop sign, thus rendering the colour (and existence) of the new paint job completely moot.

He’s fine…but it did finally break him, as he slammed his hands into the steering wheel, cast his eyes heavenward and finally, after failed brakes, two car accidents, identity theft, having all of his money stolen and his truck painted funny, not to mention the indignity of having to tell his dad that his new car’s trashed…he lost it. He finally snapped and freaked the frak out. On the Joe scale- he hit a 10. What did he say? What filth was he moved to? What was the only response possible after this series of troubles and indignities? Imagine how you would behave, and then prepare yourself, because after all of that, after being tested in every possible way and being pushed to his very limit….Joe sat in the smashed truck and said:

“Oh, COME ON.”

I love that guy.