I was rejected yesterday.

I’m still struggling with it.

There I was, just sitting in the waiting room working on testing schedules, and this grungy mechanic-looking dude walks up and says, “I’m gonna have to give you a rejected sticker.”

Oh. So this is how dating works now? Dudes reject you before you even ask and then give you a sticker as a warning to other dudes?

Me: “Huh?”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “Did you know your horn doesn’t work?”

ME: “Is that a euphemism?”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “Huh?”

Me: “What?”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “Your car horn. It doesn’t work. Did you know that?”

Me: “No. Because I’m not a dick. I don’t drive around honking at people for no reason.”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “Uhhh, well, they require it to work to pass inspection. So, I’m gonna have to give you a rejection sticker.”

Me: “Right. Ok. So you’re not rejecting me as a person. Just my car.”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “Huh?”

Me: “What?”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “You said-“

Me: “Huh?”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “Oooookay. So just get that fixed and you can bring it back for reinspection.”

Me: “You can’t fix it?”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “No. I’m not a diagnostician.”

Me: “Yeah. Me either. Although, I’m pretty good at identifying mental disorders when I see them.”

Grungy Mechanic-Looking Dude: “Huh?”

Me: “What?”

So anyway, obviously I called my son. Which sounds way more grown up than calling my dad. Except I called my dad, too.

My dad didn’t answer.

But my ever-loyal son did.

(He’s still paying me back for being two weeks overdue at birth. I charge $500/minute of delayed delivery time. He’ll be working that off for … ever.)

He spent the spare few minutes he had in a YMCA parking lot contorting his 6’3″ body into my car to look at fuses.

And looking for relay switches. And connectors. And actual horns.

No dice.

That’s not really gonna make a dent in the $5,000,000,000 delayed delivery cost he still owes me.

Stopped by my usual car fixer dudes. They can’t look at it for two weeks and won’t even try to offer any ideas about cost.

Me: “Dude. I’ve got one more major college tuition payment to make before I’m no longer living in poverty. I need to plan for what I can afford.”

Unhelpful Car Fixer Dude: “Well, I don’t see how you have a choice. You have to get it fixed for your car to pass inspection.”

Me: “Oh. I see what’s happening here. See, you’re thinking that I won’t just drive around with a rejected sticker on my car until I someday become unpoor or I can figure out how to fix myself.”

Unhelpful Car Fixer Dude: “Huh?”

Me: “What?”

So, now I’m just complaining about this to everybody that might have some mechanical aptitude and hoping someone will tell me how to fix it myself.

I’ve already missed a run and a yoga class in this process. And we all know how dangerous that can be.

In the meantime, I’m kinda enjoying the idea that a rejected sticker might be kind of symbolic and deter any potential suitors. Because I think that’s best. For all of us.