Sunday, October 3, 2010

Bad luck with cars.

Well not really bad luck entirely. More like mixed-bag car luck. Because while I've gone through three cars, I haven't been hurt. So that's a plus. Yeah, by the way, three cars, only 22 years old. WTF, you might ask? Well!
My first car I just loved despite the fact that it was a total lemon. It was a used Honda civic, and I think the previous owner just drove the thing into the ground. Part of the driver's seat was ripped, so I used my super-powers (sewing) to lovingly fix my dear car. Pretty much the whole passenger side didn't work right. The window never rolled down the entire time I owned it. Before we had it fixed, when you tried to open the door it would lock, so you had to hold up the lock while opening the door to get out. Oh, and the engine died on me. You think that would be the the end, but no, we replaced it. Should have given up then, but damn did I love having my little red car.
Then one day I was on my way home, paused at a red light, fiddling with my necklace. I had maybe two seconds to look up into my rear view mirror and have the realization "he's not stopping?" Then next 1/2 hour is a bit of a blur. But what I have pieced together is this: drunk-and-medicated-man rear-ended my car into the car in front of me. The airbag went off, punching me in the face. I dazedly manage to turn off the car because the car was filled with smoke. (power from the airbag.) I got out of the car (forgot to put the car in park, but it was so fucked up it wasn't going anywhere on its own anyhow.) Friends of mine coming from the same place stopped to help me out, thank whatever higher power might exist. Mr. Fuck-up was out of his car too, stumbling over, head bleeding, eyes glazed over, to ask if I was okay. I was like, yeah I'm good, but you're bleeding dude. At this point I still hadn't realized I couldn't see because the airbag had punched my prescription sunglasses into oblivion off of my face. It gets fuzzy from there but I remember sitting in the grass by the road for a good while, cops showing up, paramedics showing up, and the failed sobriety test by Mr. fuck-up. Then the tow truck, and going home. Looking at the back end of the car, it seemed like the tailpipe has tried to become a part of the rear axle, and the whole thing tried to be part of the trunk. I would put a picture up from this, but I don't know how to get things from my phone to here yet.
Edit: Hey I learned! Here 'tis: 
  Complete with man-yeti Dad!
Then I acquired my next car from the insurance money. Nice little silver Kia, very cute, no immediate problems. I had it for about a year before the breaks sort of failed on me on the way to school. On the highway. And then I drove home again. On the highway. Because I'm a safety-minded person like that, I guess. Then in the winter, while I was a commuter student, my car decided it didn't want to let me in. I tried everything. Hairdryer on the door, lighter on the key, defrosting stuff on the lock, even body-slammed the door. It remained resolutely frozen shut. I went back inside and emailed my Latin teacher "Um. Frozen out of my car. can't make it to class. Can I meet with you tomorrow to go over the homework?" That happened maybe three times or something.
Then one night, sounds asleep, I am woken up by knocking on the door. It's 4am. Who the hell is knocking on the door? I go cautiously into the living room, and see the reflections of red and blue cop's lights. Oh god, I think to myself. Some shit has gone down and now the cops are here. What in the hell is going on? So I woke up my Dad. Then we answered the door, it was of course a cop. "Is this your car out here?" I hurry outside and look to where my car should be, to the right of the driveway, and slowly pan left, so where my car actually is, on the left side of the driveway. From that angle I don't see why it's over there. Then I run out barefoot, in Winter, to my poor car, and see its right driver's side mangled beyond belief. There's a giant spring just sitting on the ground, glass everywhere, and half of the other guy's bumper. Unfortunately, not with his license plate. We figure a drunk driver came along and smashed into my car, freaked out, perhaps because he didn't have insurance, and drove off. How you would be able to drive away after hitting a car so hard it moves 35 feet I don't know, but the asshole managed it. Needless to say my poor little car was toast. But the good news? I wasn't hurt this time either. Mostly because I was asleep in bed. One of the funny parts about this was that the old license plates from the Honda were on the Kia too. The back plate of the Honda was the front plate of the Kia... I declared that plate CURSED and got brand new plates for the next one. But as you'll see... it's not the plates, it's me.
 See the giant spring on the ground to the left of the tire?
Then came my third car. Light blue Saturn L300. Sunroof, 6-disk CD player, seat warmers (required when you have leather seats), the works man. But of course... I get a hold of it... the engine overheated on a trip out of state one day. In winter. It overheated in winter. So I'm stuck in a random-ass tiny town, get towed to a little bigger college town, and have no idea what to do. Eventually I realized I had a friend who went to the college, so I called 'em up and crashed there for the night, missing two shifts at work, which sucked. But the car recovers and I get to go home. Then there was the problem with the brights not staying off, then there was the problem with the breaks, and then there was the problem with the hole in the oil pan.... and then finally on the way home, again, the car broke down for the final time, and so close to the border of my state too. Well I still had three hours left to drive but at least I was almost in my own state. This time the timing belt broke.
Notice all the terrible little red and yellow lights? That means bad news, folks. 
Which meant death for the engine, because the pistons hit the valves and there was no compression and it was just came over, son. There was no way for me to afford a new engine this time, let alone a new car, being a poor college student, not a privileged high-school senior. So I scrapped my car for $100. Pathetic. Still bitter about that. The new oil pan on its own cost $600, not counting the labor they charged to put it in...
And now? Well for some reason, despite my poor track record, my wonderful, amazing, generous Mother is loaning me her car for the year, while she drives my Grandpa's truck. Dear god you have no idea how paranoid I am about this car. My road rage has increased to record levels and I have nightmares about hurting Mom's car. Literal nightmares. I've only had it about a month and already something... oil leak. Granted it was the fault of the oil-change place for not screwing in the oil filter properly, but really? I think it's my Anti-Technology Field. Just glad that nothing bad actually happened this time.
And that whole mess, my fine friends, is why I should never, ever, be allowed to own a car.

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