Smart Car

It’s been said that pets are a reflection of their owner.  Unfortunately for this maxim, my pet is a goldfish.  And while he is lazy, likes to eat a lot, is probably half-blind with memory problems (his problems owe to living in a bowl, mine stem from myopia and probably being dropped on my head as a small child), I don’t really consider Gordon Lightfish to be an accurate representation of myself.  Therefore, I submit to you that my car is a reflection of her owner: a selfish, spoiled little bitch.

Maybe part of it’s the name: Cavalier (see defs. 5, 6 and 10).  But honestly.  She’s finally paid off (as of last Thursday) but in the last month, I’ve spent more on repairs to her than on the initial loan I took out to buy her.  Last month, I spent about $1000 on body repair (not really necessary, but the rust spots were a little ghetto looking) and today, I spent just over $300 because the damn alternator crapped out.

I actually kind of lucked out on that one, because when I was driving home from my appointment this morning, I noticed the battery light came on.  Fortunately, I was about two miles from, the dealership, so I just headed straight there (as I’m doing total “oh, shit” driving, turning off the radio, unplugging my iPod adapter and ditching the AC… *sniff*) and they diagnosed the problem (although I spent almost three hours there, which ate up a considerable amount of my loafing around at home time).

Damn you car.  Don’t I spoil you?  I make sure to fill you up at the BP instead of Casey’s, even though the gas is routinely two to three cents cheaper at Casey’s (it’s not that I think the gas is somehow better at BP, I just don’t like the way the pumps are set up at Casey’s).  Don’t I take you to the good car wash on Jersey Ridge instead of the crappy one in Eldridge?  Don’t I spare you the indignity of having terrestrial radio spewing out of your speakers by having the iPod hooked up?  Is this because you can’t live in the garage?  Because that is not my fault.  Why have you forsaken me?

Oh.  Right.  Cuz you’re ten years old.  And you have a bajillion miles on you.  Right.

She better last, though.  Because between the new front brakes earlier this year, the body work and the new alternator, I’ve probably put more money into the car than she’s officially worth.

Which is probably how my parents feel about me most of the time.

Well, time to catch up on loafing.