Fiasco!

It started as a simple errand trip. It ended as a fiasco.
In my front driveway, slightly to the west and parked on a strip of gravel is an old blue car. The front bumper is starting to rust, there are dings here and there, and its make and model are decidedly out-dated. It is known as The Buick. Or, better yet, The Couch.
While vacationing here in South Jordan from the wild streets of New York, my brother Kristian decided to pass on the Buick to me, as we are all expecting the worst from the New Yorker. In fact, I am quite surprised I have driven it so many times without a serious explosion.
Everything necessary was completed today for the grand ceremony of switching owners: the inspection, the registration, and the new licenseing. We decided to take it for a spin around town. As I approached the car, being the brainless git I am, I decided to swat out at a few stray hornets who seemed to be lingering around the sideview mirror. Little did I know that the heat of the day only provokes these curious creatures into what we humans lovingly refer to as, "the angry hour." Before you could say "The Predatory Wasps of the Palisades are Out to Get Us" or something like that, I heard Kristian yell...
"RUN Jos! Run!"
And I did.
Around and around the yard I ran screaming for my life as eight angry hornets chased after me, hungry for bloody vengeance.
Kristian ran into the house and seized two bottles of Raid instant Hornet and Wasp Killer. A few moments later the air was thick with poison and half a dozen insects fell out of the air around me and writhed on the ground in their last dying moments.
Quick as thieves we jumped into the car and raced down the street, beginning what could possibly be considered the most ineffectual errand trip ever.
We were going to get our hair cut. I was saving up my courage to cut off at least six inches. And my brother has skater hair. He needed that haircut. Kristian was going to get a new phone plan from T-Mobile, and I a new phone. Unfortunately, these things never happened.
Somewhere around Redwood Road, The Couch died. It just quit. No lights, no engine, nothing.
"Wow!." I said, once again being foolishly naive and stupid. "The clicking stopped!"
We sat in stunned silence for a moment, and with one desperate motion I tried to turn the key in the ignition again. Nothing.
We were stranded.
The situation was not improved by the fact that several angry hornets, nested somewhere within the car or outside of it, had found us, and had proceeded to launch assaults on us, their unarmed victims.
So in his button-up and flip flops, Kristian pushed the car to the side of the road. I steered.
Luckily we were picked up by a kind passerby, and a short while later I was riding in the back of a complete stranger's truck, feeling strange, but quite safe from the ravaging beasts.
It was a surpassingly strange day.
It is funny that even when I have the most ordinary intentions my life takes a sudden swing from calm to calamity.
It's just funny.