Mr. Knight’s Shining Armour Provided By Botany 500

There are few things in life that will cost you more Man Points than locking your keys in your car. Running for any reason is one of those things because men do not run. We take care of business with due diligence and direction, but also without a flagrant lack of self respect. Unless we’re talking about last call here. In that case running is totally fine.

Holding the door open for another man instead of flipping it outwards at the last second? Yep, that will cost you even more Man Points than running. And fumbling in your pocket for your keys at the car instead of having them out well before hand would be even worse.

One of the most flagrant fouls and most expensive of loses of Man Points, however, would be not locking your own keys in your car, but someone else’s. And that is exactly what I did this weekend in a Hindenburg sized catastrophe of burning Man Points. Angels wept and the heavens opened forth in shame as the door’s vacuum seal closed shut behind me. Truly I have never felt so bad.

Thank goodness they don’t let women work at the Auto Club — or else we’d all still be sitting in the fucking parking lot waiting for the lady locksmith to unlose herself.

Much to my surprise when I checked with the Auto Club I found they have no official anti-women hiring policies on the books. They also denied having any such tacit practices of gender discrimination. Peculiar, I thought. Then why is it that a woman will never get out of the tow truck with the weekend saving Slim Jim or with the magic box of Energon to resurrect a dead battery that has been pumping after hours “Jamz” in the local Community College parking lot?

The reason can’t be that women don’t know shit about cars. Women don’t know shit about law, politics, or sex and that doesn’t keep them from being lawyers, politicians or sexually abusive high school teachers all over the news recently — even though they suck at all three of them (Man Pun intended). So why are there no women in the Auto Club?

I’ve come to the conclusion that women don’t believe in the Auto Club. Much in the same way that men do not believe in the tooth fairy or talking cheese or tantric sex. To women the idea of an auto assistance association is pure fantasy. The theory does more than explain why women never pick up the fucking phone and call for a tow themselves. Sure she could call, but in her mind that would be like writing a letter to Santa Claus. If anything came of it, it would just be a coincidence.

Women don’t believe in the Auto Club because none of them have solved a problem in their entire lives. They think the entire process of fixing what is broken is all in the realm of mysticism and fantasy and, if they were ever inclined, would look for manuals on car repair in the perpetually bankrupt bookstore in the old part of town between the forgotten tombs of “Increase Your Goddess Power With Crystals” and “Lose Twenty Pounds Talking About How Fucking Great Yoga Is”.

Nagging someone until they put a sweater on doesn’t count as solving a problem. It’s not even preemptively problem solving. It’s just being a pain in the ass. A woman solving a problem is a woman shouting obnoxiously while letting her disaster fixed imagination run wild and calling herself Mary Poppins all the fucking while while everyone else did the opposite. If there was a women’s version of the Auto Club, it would be some crazy broad making a daily stop at your house to shackle a ten pound iron ball with your car keys super glued to the side to your ankle.

Viable. That’s another word that no woman has ever known or used.

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