Moral of the story: don’t give the Chinese delivery guys a phone number with call screening attached. When they hear a nice, generic female voice ask for their name, they hang up. It’s true. And then they yell at you for having a broken phone, and you feel obligated to tip them extra for suffering so.

Also, the fortunes I’ve been getting (the little cookie/paper ones, but if you have any of the more expensive sort, I’m still accepting cash donations) have become targeted. Specifically targeted, as in they’ve managed to all be about the same thing over a four week span.

Your financial situation will be improving shortly.

You will do better in real estate than in stocks.

The stock market may be your ticket to success.

Apparently the stock market = win, and real estate = extra win (thank you, Cory). Also, Facebook has spoken – I ‘can drink more’ than [name removed].

The Chinese was precluded by an attempt to pay our rent. Rent and security deposit, which was unexpected and bit unexpectedly deeply into my checkbook. Collegiate life, Isaac. Our landlord (who looks like a mafia boss, honestly) runs a chain of restaurants (pancake houses, which is interesting), and asked us to drop off the checks at the one on Lakeshore Drive. He would then buy us dinner (pancakes!), which made using Jeff’s car worth the apparent risk.

Jeff’s car, see, is dying. (Or has died, actually, but as of that time – two days ago – it was still limping tolerably.) It’s a 1986 two-door convertible, and the interior is completely stripped out. Still don’t know why, but no matter. The point is moot, as it has since collided unhappily with another, younger, vehicle. And promptly retired without much complaint.

But I digress; it was still working. And continued to work properly, up until a little past Navy Pier. This was when things went a little awry, and smoke began billowing (billowing, yes) out from the hood. I’m told that this happens sometimes, but as long as air keeps moving through the thing it doesn’t overheat. The trouble, then, was that we elected to travel on Lakeshore, which according to WXRT had the worst traffic in Chicago at that time.

The natural course of action cannot, I think, be debated. We waited for the gridlock to inch us along to the next exit, and then parked in front (in front) of the nearest high-class loft complex we could find.

The concierge was concerned.

And rightly so, what with the antifreeze flowing smoothly into the street.

The rest of the story isn’t nearly as exciting – the car cooled down eventually, and Jeff keeps a couple gallons of water and extra antifreeze in the trunk for this sort of scenario. Made it safely back to school. Missed out on the pancakes.

Best-laid plans and all that.