Straight Up.

I think men are nice people in general... really. I have no problem with men at all. I'm cautious about them, granted, but I think a girl has to be in this day and age.

I am so getting off-topic.

Today I my truck wouldn't start. (I say "my truck" in the loosest sense of the word. The behemoth bastard tried to kill me my senior year of high school. I'm serious. It had nothing to do with the operator. It was all the truck.)

I was stuck in the parking lot of my workplace. (Yeah. My workplace. I work at Hart's now. A truck stop. I know, don't say it. Just shut up.) I phoned my mother, and she wasn't home. Phoned Erin and Milla, but they were still in Salt Lake. Would have called Nikki, but she was inside working, and really, what good would that do me? So I phoned my dad and had him come down from work.

While he was on his way, I popped the hood and peeked under it to see what I could see. I was positive it was the battery. The truck was clicking, but not turning over; it was getting power, but not enough to start.

The battery was obviously in trouble-- corroded and nasty, it looked like it was sprouting moss from its screws, and a few wires seemed to have come loose. I tried to twist a few of the loose screws back into place, adjusted a few wires, knocked off crumbly battery acid-- still nothing. I have no idea how my dad or my brother hadn't noticed it.

To make a long story short, I knew I was in bad shape.

In pulled a hero-- in a National Guard uniform, nonetheless. As I was standing on my tiptoes leaning into the front end of my car, I heard someone ask if I needed a hand. I replied that I was fine, that I knew what was wrong and my dad was en route. Instead of just nodding, being happy that he was a good Samaritan and going on his way, he proceeded to pull a wrench kit out of the trunk of his car and tweak at my battery. All good and fine, that's sweet that he was trying to help me.

Him: "Your battery is corroded."
Me: "Yeah-- looks that way." -tries to start the car-
Him: "Well, it's trying, but it's just not getting enough power. That's what the--"
Me: "--the clicking and stuff is."
Him: "Yeah. All that acid and stuff, did you see it?"
Me: "Yeah. I brushed some of it off."
Him: "Loose screws here."
Me: "I didn't have a wrench."
Him: "This battery's in bad shape. Did you know?"
Me: -thin smile, stays silent-

Why is it that men think women know nothing about cars?

Now, granted, I don't know much. But I think I know enough that when my battery cables are rattling and my battery is crusted over with acid, I'm not in a good place. I grew up around cars. My grandfather restores old cars. I know a little bit about cars. Also, I am not blind.

God bless good Samaritans, but God curse men that think all women are damsels in distress. (And it was EVEN FUNNIER because he was in camoflage.)