Toyota Sienna - Its gotta go

Mom’s been bugging me the whole week to install the backseat back into the van. We drive a dark purple Toyota Sienna. I try really hard to be a better son now-a-days. Help where I can, contribute when I can, pay if I could.
“Will, when are you going to put back the chairs? The fish tank’s gonna get it wet and you’ll end up with even more work!”
Okay, I know I have to put it back in regardless logic, but hear me out on this one. We have five people living with us, me, my sister, my brother, my dad and my mom. A Toyota Sienna at full capacity can hold seven people, we only have five. Why the hell do we need the last chair in? Without the chair there is less weight, more room in the back, less gas consumption, greater overall benefit. On top of all this, my brother is in Windsor. Do we really need all seven seats installed for our five member family--four due to technicality? Whatever, I’ll do it.
I head out, type in the garage code--the ‘4’ and the ‘3’ is starting to fade out on the keypad--3 3 4 3 3 3 4 3. I don’t understand, why do we even bother with the code, we should just have a button that opens the garage door. Any Joe Blow can open it just by looking at the faded keypad.
I open the trunk the pneumatic arms sucks in the air, tssssssssssss. Would’ve been a lot cooler if it wasn’t such a crappy car. The chair sits in the middle of the garage walkway, to either side of this makeshift walkway is an enormous assortment of random crap. Green, blue and gray bins line the right, a dozen boxes of pots and plant holders to the left, and this is just the front portion of the garage. No sane man would venture deeper into the garage unless absolutely necessary. I can’t wait until the day I have to clean out the garage. I venture into the depths of my garage, careful not to knock over anything, keeping a weary eye out for bugs, taking cautious steps towards the location of the backseat. So far so good, no hick-ups, no trouble, no problems. Kinda like the DVP at 3am in the morning. I arrive alive, the backseats resting there, folded up, waiting to be reunited with its buddy, the right backseat. I bend my knees hauling it up, trying hard to avoid using my back to lift. This things bulky. I waddle like a duck through the makeshift walkway, bumping into random widgets and trinkets. Its like navigating through landmines, one wrong step and I’ll have the wraith of mom lighting my ass on fire. Its cool, I made it. I have the backseat from the trunk into the car right beside the right backseat. A slight push, drop and cling, the seat drops into place.
Fuck.
Only the right hook caught the support bar at the bottom. I pull on the red lever at the back in combination with the middle black one. Its empty and non-resistant. Shit. This things stuck and not coming out. Fucking A. I shift it to the left, stuck, forward, stuck, backwards, stuck, right, stuck. This piece of shit is stuck. I pull on the right lever, the chair slides forwards and backwards making absolutely no positive contribution to the problem at hand. FUCK. I shove it forwards and yank it backwards. Nothing useful, just seat movement but it’s still not clicking into place. I jar it left and right, again, nothing happens, but I feel the metal weaken. The seat’s being bent in ways it was not suppose to. I vigorously yank the chair back and forth, left to right, and still nothing is working.
“THIS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT WON’T FUCKING FIT. FUUUCCCK.” Its okay, no one’s around, I can vent to myself. I stomp on the back side of the seat. Boom-boom-boom. I keep stomping on the back. Boom-boom-CRACK. Shit, oh shit. The fucking plastic at the back cracked. Who the fuck designed this shit? Why the fuck would you design such a glitched up piece of shit? Fuck me!
“FUCK! Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit.”
The seat responds in smirking silence. Sweat is condensing on my nose or maybe its a tear. I don’t know if it was a tear or a droplet of sweat, whatever it is, I felt it slowly rolling down the side of my nose. It hung on for a second before falling to the matted car floor. I was hoping for blood. It wasn’t. I want to beat the living shit out of every engineer who designed this piece of shit. Similarly, I want to shoot every panda who wouldn’t fuck to save its species. PETA can kiss my ass for all I care. What the fuck were the designers thinking? Did they expect the car to only last five years? I’m running this 2001 Sienna onto its 10th year and now you decide to fuck with me? My arms heat up, my jeans start sticking to my thighs, my shirt’s plastered onto my back. No, I won’t let you off this easy. I grab the levers again and violently shove, tug, push, pull, rock and bash the seat. It’s either make it or break it.
“Arrrrrrrrgh!”
I sit back on the trunk facing into the car interior. My jaw is clenched tight, and my fist is tightened white. I wanted to punch the window, the sides, the outsides, I wanted to ruin this car with my bare hands. I wanted to blame my mom for this. But its not her fault. I wanted to blame the designers. Yes, the designers were fucked when they designed this piece of shit. Fuck this shit.