Ode to My Car

When I got you, I didn’t want to shatter you into atoms with a bat so you couldn’t let me down anymore, but hey. We’ve both changed.

I was excited about the idea of an American car after that recession (no, the other one), but what did I know? You were new and hid your cheap, sh*tty parts under a shiny coat of paint.

Neither of us had been exposed to the world when I got you. I was off to college; you were off the lot. We had a couple of fun year there.

Then your gear shifter broke, and then your temperature regulator, and then your battery, entire transmission, windows, temperature regulator (again), and assorted parts beneath the hood with names I never bothered to learn.

I think the main difference between us is that when I break down, I still have to go to work the next day. Life puts miles on human bodies, and we have to bear up for decades. You’re blissfully free of any such need to soldier on. Also, you broke your window mechanism ON THE WAY to a repair appointment for the engine, so I guess the other main difference is that I have some #$%^ing manners.

There’s a lot of romantic ideas tied up in a first car, but a new car is nothing like a romantic partner. Well, almost nothing. A lot of people have dated unreliable, perpetually broke let downs. But the point is, you can just leave a partner if you need to, but you can’t give up on a car because it’s hurting you. I don’t live in a city, so you letting me down is the same as the world slamming its doors in my face. Possibilities close in. I’m embarrassingly easy to trap. I bleed money every time you fail… Maybe that’s how parents feel about their kids.

If I had enough money, I would never sell you.

But I would light you on fire, so let’s forget that parent-child analogy.