So I wake up this morning to find that my car has been stolen. On my birthday. It was stolen out my parking spot in the back of my townhouse complex (and yes, it was locked). This isn’t just any car, mind you. It’s a 1991 Nissan 300ZX, one of the most beautiful cars ever made, and it only had 87,000 miles on it.
It was the first car I ever bought and I wrote a check out for it out of my own checkbook. I spent so much time looking through the papers, finding a good deal and a good dealer. I was so proud when I bought it because I felt like I was finally an adult making adult decisions. It was a good, steady, reliable car for me for years.
The Z drives like a dream and I loved every single second I spent with that car. I was never a car person until I drove the Z and came to understand what a pleasure driving could really be. It turned heads, it was so beautiful and elegant. And now some slimy thief is driving it around with his dirty hands all over the steering wheel. It’s probably going to Mexico. I’ll never see that gorgeous car again and all the while it’ll be driven by some jerkoff who’s willing to buy a stolen car.
Also I just put $1500 worth of maintenance in it two weeks ago.
This is officially the worst birthday I’ve ever had. Anyone want to cheer me up with other tales of horrible birthdays?