Lately I’ve had reason to question my own sanity…

Okay; so ‘sanity’ might be a bit of a stretch for me.  Let’s just say that lately I’ve been wondering if I’m crazier than I realized.

Here’s why:

A couple of weeks ago I stopped off at the lumber store.  I was in there for about two minutes, and as I walked back to my vehicle I thought, “Shit, did I forget to lock the doors?”  (I’m having a hard time adjusting to power locks after decades of locking my old car manually.)

So I walked up to the driver’s door and pulled on the handle; and was pleasantly surprised to discover that I had actually locked the car.  So I unlocked it, got in, and drove away… for about ten feet, when the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke nearly made me gag.

I thought somebody must have walked by with a cigarette and the smoke had been momentarily sucked into the fresh air intake, so I kept driving.

A block down the street, the smell was getting stronger.

What the hell?  Had somebody flicked a live butt into my front grille?

I got out, popped the hood, and examined the front grille from top to bottom.  Nothing.

By the time I got back in the vehicle the smell had dissipated, but as soon as I drove forward again the reek was back, just as strong as if somebody had gotten into the car and lit up.

I stopped again.  Got out and checked the entire vehicle inside and out.  I even looked under the floor mats in case some diabolical smoker had seized the scant moments while I’d been inside the store to open a door (which I might have forgotten to lock after all), hide a butt somewhere, lock the car just to mess with my mind, and then flee.

But nope.  Nada.

I made several more stops where I repeatedly checked the vehicle from nose to tail and even checked the treads of my hiking boots to make sure I hadn’t stepped on a butt and carried it into the car with me.   I drove to the dealer and asked them where the secret cigarette-butt hiding place was; but they were as mystified as I.  Finally, I resigned myself to the knowledge that I was being haunted by the malevolent ghost of chainsmoker who only lit up when my car was in forward motion.

The smell is gone now and I never did find the source, so who knows?  Maybe a butt got stuck in the tire tread.  Or maybe it really was a ghost.

And speaking of ghosts in the machine, my TurboTax program is haunted, too.  Only a few days after the car debacle I was confronted by this:

I won’t get into the tooth-grinding frustration and unending support calls this has produced; but ultimately the TurboTax no-help-whatsoever-desk decided that it’s my fault¹ their software subtracts zero from zero and gets two hundred and fourteen, and they’ve closed my so-called “support” ticket.

I’m not surprised; because clearly, I’m nuts.

Or at least, I am now…

* * *

¹ Transcript of the call, after the first hour of futility:

TurboTax HelpDesk:  “You’ve done something wrong.  Our software is infallible.”

Me:  “Okay.  What have I done wrong?”

TTHD:  “I don’t know.  You’ll have to enter something somewhere on a form.  Make sure you fill in all the fields.”

Me:  “Okay, which form?”

TTHD:  “I don’t know.  We don’t give tax advice.”

Me:  “I’m not asking for tax advice.  Your software is subtracting zero from zero and getting two hundred and fourteen.”

TTHD:  “Yes, because you’ve done something wrong².”

*repeat loop*

² Clearly, I did do something wrong.  I bought TurboTax.