A Series of Unfortunate Events

Part One of - well, let's just not count these, shall we?

Back in high school, I turned 16 before all of my friends because my birthday fell two days after the kindergarten cut-off and I started a year later than everyone else. So I was one of the first to have a car. Unfortunately for me, my parents were of the thrifty sort and my first car was a hand-me-down that both of my parents had driven. Getting a hand-me-down car from my mother wouldn't have been bad, because she's never been hard on cars. My dad, however, is where cars go to die. He drives too fast and neglects basic maintenance. By the time I got this car, it ran and the radio worked. That was all you could say about it. It was also a puke green Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera. Stylin'. (You're jealous, aren't you? I knew you were.) When I turned it on, all the warning lights lit the dash up like a Christmas tree. Some of them never went off. So I took to ignoring them. Oh-so-smart. Then one day, my car died on the side of the road. Some nice folks picked me up and gave me a ride home. We had the car towed to our mechanic, who promptly taught me that there is one light that you don't ignore - the oil light. Yep, I ran the car out of oil and blew up the motor. Guess who did not have a car for the last half of her senior year of high school?