So we drove it. A lot. And a couple of times my husband dinged the mirrors on the sides of the garage. And somehow it got a dent in the bumper (this was 1995, I truly don't remember). It was a normal amount of wear and tear, I'd say.
We came home from the grocery store one night, and it was dark, so as we were unloading the trunk, a can of orange juice concentrate somehow escaped and rolled into a crevice in the trunk.
And stayed there.
And about a week later we noticed a very bad smell in the trunk. Very bad. Like orange beer. Like super stinky orange beer.
The orange juice had fermented. Big time.
“No problem!” we said. We pulled out the mats and trunk fabric and washed them as best we could with carpet cleaner. And we sprayed Febreze. A lot of Febreze. And we washed the mats again. And we sprayed Lysol. A lot of Lysol.
But it smelled exactly the same. Which was a very BAD smell, if you recall.
When I drove to work, I had to keep the windows open just so I could breathe. It was like that episode of Seinfeld with the smelly car.
Every day when I drove to work I was worried that if I was pulled over by a police officer, the smell of (orange) beer would drift out of the car and it would be assumed I was driving drunk or with open containers or whatever that smell would insinuate.
But mostly it was just insufferable.
My husband took the car one morning to drive to court (he was in law school at the time), and during stop-and-go traffic on the Pasadena Freeway he was bumped from behind, which pushed him into the car in front of him. Even with really low speed, BAM. The front of the car crumpled. The air bags deployed. He was not hurt at all (thank goodness). No one was; it was tiny fender-bender. But our car was totaled. TOTALED. From that? I couldn't believe it.*
And immediately our insurance declared the car totaled. And paid us full Kelley Blue Book for the car. Which was like 10 times what the car was worth in its present state–with dents, scratches, crunched mirrors, and OH YEAH WHAT'S THAT HORRIBLE SMELL?
So that worked out nicely. Really couldn't have gone better.
What crazy convenient thing has happened to you?
*Speaking of “couldn't believe it,” the glove box of the car was smashed shut in the accident, so my husband was unable to show the police officer proof of insurance at the scene. So she wrote him a ticket. Which he ended up using hours and hours and HOURS to clear up, including having to go to court to show a tiny piece of paper (which we have forevermore carried in our wallets instead of the glove box, just in case).