Letting go… of a car

At some point in our lives, we will all do it. Whether it was a love-hate relationship in which the ups never matched the downs, ultimately leading to your decision to let go, or it was constant companion, reliable as ever, until the day it said, “I cannot go any farther.” We will all… let go… of a car.

In my short career as a wanna-be-Danika Patrick, I’ve said goodbye to four cars and am on my fifth. (Insert Asian Woman Driver joke here) My first was a cute, trusty little 1991 Toyota Tercel. I’m telling you, this thing had bike tires it was so small—but I loved it! Others saw a junky, loud, pansy blue, putter. I saw the moonroof, a cd-player, and actually liked the baby blue color. I decked it out with a matching sky colored steering wheel cover, dice in the mirror, mardi gras beads around the four-speed stick shift, and flower stickers on the air conditioning and hazard light buttons. I WAS FREE.

Four months later… I rear ended a truck.

My parents were of course upset but decided to help me repair my car. They paid for it to be fixed, and away I went.

Seven months later… I rear-ended another truck.

Quit laughing at me! IT WAS SNOWING! So, my little putter went into the junkyard and I eyed my next victim. A 1993 Toyota Celica with flip up head lights and a real sun roof. WOOOOOORRRRRRRRD!

This car was awesome. I had this car as a Senior in high school and took it to college. I got caught going 90 once in a 70 mph zone driving home to MI from IN, but I wrote the judge of the city and asked to be excused from the points: “Sir, I’m sorry, I never speed, but I’m an athlete who hydrates A LOT. I really had to pee.” It worked.

Then, one day, on my way back to school from MI, I decided to stop 45 minutes away and grab some McDonalds (sausage McMuffins are the Sheeiit). After paying and waiting to move up to the next window, my car starts smoking. Uhhh wtf! I can’t do anything! I wait until my turn to get my food and the lady is all, “Ma’am, your car is one fire.”

My groggy, sleep/mcmuffin deprived, dumbass decides to drive my flaming car to the gas station across the street. I actually parked it over the tanks of gasoline that are stored underground. Fortunately for me, the gas attendant remained calm, quickly grabbed the fire hydrant and subdued the fires before telling me that I almost blew up the entire city of Angola. My best friend, Nicole, came and picked me up—I kissed that car goodbye and sold it for parts.

Next up, a 1998 Chevy Lumina. I paid cash money for this bright white four-door, leather bootied beast. I had to empty what little I had in my Pacific Poker account, but it was worth it.

One week later… NO I DIDN’T REAR-END SOMEONE!

But I turned into a light pole, putting a dent in the door.

This baby took me through three years of college and all the way to Vegas. It ran like a dream until… SHIT! I did rear-end someone! I slammed into an Alero in front of the Tuscany. Thank goodness that no one I rear-ended has ever been injured. The woman I hit was very sweet, and she even let me use her phone since mine was in at least four pieces after the air bag had its way with it. Before I could type in Andrew’s phone number, she got an incoming phone from a 269 area code that said Dad. I was a little disoriented at the time, and my first reaction was, “Hey, how did my dad know I got in an accident… and how did he get this girl’s number???”  Dumb, I know, but as fate would have it, the girl was from KALAMAZOO! Talk about a small world.

I actually drove this car for awhile after that, but when Andrew and I worked at the same office, we didn’t see any need for two cars. I sold mine without any remorse… it was pretty beat up.

So Andrew and I drove his 2002 Honda Civic. It was a little silver five-speed but had great gas mileage and a sweet turn radius (no need for Austin Powers nineteen-point turns). Then, wouldn’t you believe it? I crashed it, but this time, IT WASN’T MY FAULT!

It was another Asian lady’s fault! I’m driving straight, and she pulled out in front of me as she tried to turn left across my lane. UGH! Then, there we are in the street. Two Asian broads… her in a Toyota Camery with her headlight popped out, and me with a Civic and a punched-in hood. Classic. Doesn’t bode well for our stereotypes.

According to our insurance, our car was totaled. He got the money for the car, and I pitched in to buy another one.

I’ve slaughtered every car that I’ve owned. In contrast, Andrew has had a car for the past ten years that he cherished, and just said goodbye to it today. He’s got a really touching story, and I wrote a note about it on Facebook. I know this post has gotten pretty long, so I’m going to cut if off here, and just make it a separate post. You can find it here.