B.A. Inventory

Carl loved his 2002 Dodge Neon, The Silver Ferret, even if it rattled like a haunted dishwasher. One scorching afternoon, while driving to impress Patty from Payroll, the temperature gauge shot into the red. A warning light blinked. The engine hissed.

“Relax,” Carl muttered, turning up the radio. “It’s probably fine.”

It was not.

Ten minutes later, steam erupted from under the hood like a volcano made of antifreeze. The Ferret sputtered, wheezed, and died dramatically on the side of a backroad near Lake Splatterbottom.

Carl, wearing his nicest Hawaiian shirt and one-lensed sunglasses, popped the hood and got blasted with scalding steam. He waited three sweaty hours for a tow truck, swatting mosquitoes and reevaluating life choices.

The mechanic later said the engine was “cooked,” the radiator looked like lasagna, and the damage totaled $3,000 for a new motor (to repair the overheating issue before the motor went kaboom would have been $500).

Patty started dating a guy with a Toyota. Carl started riding a bike.

Moral:
If your engine’s overheating, pull over immediately. Don’t wait for the next exit. Don’t wait until the next gas station or autozone.

Don’t ignore the warning lights. Don’t channel your inner car whisperer.

Because unlike your love life, your engine won’t ghost you—it’ll explode in steam and shame.