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My mother the car
Nov. 1st, 2004 08:59 pmThere comes a time when I'm most vulnerable. These periods are rare indeed, but during it's reign, I am pinned down, utterly defenseless. People, my car is in the shop.
Oh sure, say what you want about my need to hoof it. Too true are those who believe walking just five or six blocks is really no chore, for they are the righteous. I drive. Not to slight or offend "Those Who Would Not Motor", but I am at peace in the automobile, the road channeling through my four-spoked paint-flaked wheel. It is my tai-chi,the ultimate in relaxation, a release of the bad vapours. Yes, I love cars.
This current steed, a slender '93 Civic sedan, with a mere 105 horsepower, is a small efficient car, engineered to serve commuters and first-time car buyers. Or drive at lightning quick speeds in the city. This Civic does in handling what it's Element brethren do in gas mileage. A quick low center of gravity, with just enough play in the wheel to wind through narrow city streets faster than most. Even with my driving 80 on the freeway, I manage to get 40 miles to the gallon. Good car. *sigh*
She's in the shop, poor baby.
I went for a nice shopping excursion yesterday, to a store nested among the concrete vines of Metairie. Target. Go, Target. Sorry, Susan. Many missing essentials were found and purchased, including a three and a half pound bag of candy. I anticipated kids stealing the bowl, okay? Well after a quick zip to Lowes afterward, the car wouldn't start. I mean, she wouldn't even twitch on the ignition. Full battery. Full tank. No strange symptoms before hand. Just not starting.
I panicked. WTF was I going to about work? Or picking up kids? Or just plain shopping? NO CAR!
Then the McGyver gland kicked in, and the voice of Q was in my ear "It's not rocket science, 007." Of course it wasn't. I could fix it! A closer inspection of the floor revealed a cone of plastic that I recognized. About a 1/4 inch tall, with a round base. I had seen this thing before, when the brake light failed to go off one day. It was...a sensor!
Well if I could hack together a solution for the brake pedal, then the clutch would be even easier. Right? But to do so, in the waining light of day, meant I needed some tools. Well, hell, here's a big-assed Lowes right next to me.
Three flashlights, two hours and a shitload of tools later, I conceded defeat. The car wasn't going to start. On Halloween. When I was supposed to be seeing my kids in their costumes. I was forced to call my brother to come get me. I borrowed his car today, a sad '93 Accord without much life left. Tonight I help him bring that to the same shop my car was towed to today.
Please help me in praying for my sweet blue Civic, that most precious of commodities, a great car. Anybody give me a ride?
Oh sure, say what you want about my need to hoof it. Too true are those who believe walking just five or six blocks is really no chore, for they are the righteous. I drive. Not to slight or offend "Those Who Would Not Motor", but I am at peace in the automobile, the road channeling through my four-spoked paint-flaked wheel. It is my tai-chi,the ultimate in relaxation, a release of the bad vapours. Yes, I love cars.
This current steed, a slender '93 Civic sedan, with a mere 105 horsepower, is a small efficient car, engineered to serve commuters and first-time car buyers. Or drive at lightning quick speeds in the city. This Civic does in handling what it's Element brethren do in gas mileage. A quick low center of gravity, with just enough play in the wheel to wind through narrow city streets faster than most. Even with my driving 80 on the freeway, I manage to get 40 miles to the gallon. Good car. *sigh*
She's in the shop, poor baby.
I went for a nice shopping excursion yesterday, to a store nested among the concrete vines of Metairie. Target. Go, Target. Sorry, Susan. Many missing essentials were found and purchased, including a three and a half pound bag of candy. I anticipated kids stealing the bowl, okay? Well after a quick zip to Lowes afterward, the car wouldn't start. I mean, she wouldn't even twitch on the ignition. Full battery. Full tank. No strange symptoms before hand. Just not starting.
I panicked. WTF was I going to about work? Or picking up kids? Or just plain shopping? NO CAR!
Then the McGyver gland kicked in, and the voice of Q was in my ear "It's not rocket science, 007." Of course it wasn't. I could fix it! A closer inspection of the floor revealed a cone of plastic that I recognized. About a 1/4 inch tall, with a round base. I had seen this thing before, when the brake light failed to go off one day. It was...a sensor!
Well if I could hack together a solution for the brake pedal, then the clutch would be even easier. Right? But to do so, in the waining light of day, meant I needed some tools. Well, hell, here's a big-assed Lowes right next to me.
Three flashlights, two hours and a shitload of tools later, I conceded defeat. The car wasn't going to start. On Halloween. When I was supposed to be seeing my kids in their costumes. I was forced to call my brother to come get me. I borrowed his car today, a sad '93 Accord without much life left. Tonight I help him bring that to the same shop my car was towed to today.
Please help me in praying for my sweet blue Civic, that most precious of commodities, a great car. Anybody give me a ride?
