Somewhere, in that lot, lies my car

Slept quite well, all things considered. Mrs. Ottawacker’s elbows remained on her side of the bed and when I did wake up, it was 6.30am. As we’d gone to bed at 10, that was something of a result.
 
The morning looked awfully snowy from the window, so Ottawacker Jr. had to get up and do his round of snow removal for neighbours (for which is sometimes handsomely paid), and I got out to the car to try to get it started, so I could take it to the dealership from which it was purchased. Key in the ignition: nothing. I turned it a few times with no visible effect. Then I jiggled the gearstick, tried again, and it worked. So off I went. As I mentioned yesterday, there is a $185 charge for their diagnostic – so I may have to sell a kidney to cover the bill. I was sitting in the Uber on the way home from the dealership, thinking about the weekend and all the things I had to do this week to fix the things that had gone wrong and, I have to say, feeling quite sorry for myself, when the driver sparked up conversation. He was a young Indian guy, heavily accented, who started telling me about himself and his family. It transpired that he had started work at 3am (it was now 9), and he was on his way home to get changed and go to his second job. A little bit of a reality check to help me stop feeling sorry for myself.
 
Much of the day, then, waiting for the call to tell us what was wrong. When it came, it was minor (-ish). We needed a new battery – so there goes $500 more. The Myers guy was nice enough though, and discounted our diagnostic charge by $100. Mrs. Ottawacker went out to get the car via the garage’s Uber, and I cooked dinner. It was a Bangers and Mash sort of evening. With onion sauce.