DISCLAIMER: I realize that whining about the heat in my car makes me a privileged turd. Clearly, there are far more pressing tragedies happening around the world. To those who have never lived in or visited the Deep South, you may not relate to this post as you do not know what it is like to walk around in a Crock-Pot full of chicken noodle soup. A few weeks ago, I was taking my grandmother to a doctor’s appointment when I noticed my car making an unfamiliar and alarming noise. The tat-tat-tat under the hood could mean nothing good. I…