‘Seriously?’ I groaned as I opened my car door and was hit with an expulsion of hot air. ‘God I hate summer.’
I delicately placed my shopping on the backseat – heavy on the bottom, fragiles on top – and slammed the door shut. I opened the driver’s side, making the immediate mistake of touching my steering wheel.
‘Ouch!’ I hissed, ripping my skin away from the burning wheel. I quickly jammed my key into the ignition, punching the air conditioning to as high as it would go.
Another blast of heat hit me, from all of the vents I’d meticulously balanced to deliver the air at my face and hands.
Eyeballs dry, I desperately squinted at the controls to see which dial I’d flicked the wrong way, but they all seemed right. With a cry of defeat, I flicked the air conditioning off and, with a deep sigh, rested my head on the steering wheel.
Burning!
I squealed again pulling my rapidly-reddening face back from the wheel, desperately rubbing it to dissipate the intense heat. At this rate, I was going to have to pay for a car air conditioning service and emergency plastic surgery, and I didn’t have the budget for either.
I glanced back at the bag containing my ice cream and sighed. I guess I didn’t have a choice – I had to get home, and quickly.
I slammed my feet down on the brake and the clutch, whipped the handbrake down and shunted the transmission from neutral to first, ignoring how hot the gear stick was.
Something crunched as my car staggered into first. Frowning, I nervously navigated the parking lot, then reached the open road and brought it up into second.
Crunch.
My car groaned underneath me as I shifted gears, fighting me at every change.
‘Oh god,’ I muttered to myself, ‘Now I have to find an affordable mechanic that does transmission services around Morayfield.’
Eventually, I limped onto my street, sweat dripping down my brow. I threw the car into park and collapsed back in my seat.