Is this blasted thing worth it?

This is what I really needed to know, as I contemplated running my little car off the road and over a cliff today.  And no, these are not thoughts of suicide – just of destruction.  You see, I got the car fixed a week ago, and it cost me a small fortune – so when I came out of General Conference, put my key in the ignition, and discovered that it wouldn't start – I lost it.  I threw my head back, and called out: "You've got to be kidding me."  Then I broke into that dizzying, insane-type laughter, that only comes when you're dangling by a thread.  Sister Cook was nice enough to give me a jump.  Two ladies, in their Sunday best, and 5 little kids – all peering under the hood.  It worked.  I drove all the way home, left my engine running for the required 45 minutes (no small feat of will power, considering gas prices these days), and then turned it off.  Sighed.  And tried to start it back up again.  Nothing.  Great.  Does this mean it's my alternator?  My Dad gives me some helpful advice, but I put it on the back burner, because I just left Conference, and it's Sunday, and I'm feeling pretty good about life, so I don't want to focus on this stupid little hang up.  I take the bus to work.  This is normal, because parking at the UW Medical Center costs $95 a month – and that's ridiculous.  I'll spend $1.75 on the bus thank-you very much.   But now, today is Tuesday, and I don't work on Tuesday, so I figured I'd spend the day wisely and figure out what's wrong with my car.  Sure it's sunny, and yeah, I'd rather go running, explore a city park or two, or make my way down to the harbor, but instead, I don a pair of grubby scrub bottoms, and an old t-shirt and head down to the office of my apartment building to see if they have one of those self-contained battery packs with built in jumper cables.  Some twelve-year-old kid in official maintenance garb comes down to help me.  He says that his machine told him, that my alternator is definitely broken, and that my battery is just fine.  Well, that's good news. Thanks. He also says it should cost about $300 to fix.  I groan.  I don't want to spend any more money.  There's something very special that I'm saving up for, and I don't want to be throwing cash around willy-nilly.  He tells me to take it to a place on Denny Way and have it fixed.  I end up driving halfway to Canada on Aurora, because I couldn't find the place on Denny. This is dumb.  I try a random car place that offers to fix my car for $600. Yeah right! I call the guys that fixed my car last week out in Eastern Washington.  They give me a number of some car place here in Seattle, I call them, get a quote and directions, and start my journey – but apparently in the wrong direction. I get lost several times, and make quite a few foolish phone calls back to the car place, to meekly inquire as to their whereabouts – yet again. Yikes.  I'm on the verge of tears.  Why does Seattle hate me?  Why is my car broken, yet again? And why am I always lost? I finally find the place.  It's way heck and gone, nestled between dumpy old houses, next to some railroad tracks.  Nice.  I hand 'em my keys and wait for the diagnosis.  I sit outside and twiddle my thumbs - not a natural born worrier, I don't take to it too well.  I don't like caring about things like cars and money.  I like having these things, and not having to worry about them.  What will I do if he tells me it's going to cost umpteen dollars to fix?  I see him pull my car back around front. I timidly make my way to the desk, and ask about the damage.  He tosses a little piece of metal into the air and says, "That there's your problem." Your car's running just find now.  Ta-da!  It's just a corroded piece of metal on my battery.  Phew.  A half hour and a handful of cash later, I'm heading back toward my downtown apartment.  See – that wasn't so bad, now, was it?  Too bad it took me all day to find the place.