An automobile horror story
This is a recollection of my torment; installment loans and short term loans were used to protect an innocent vehicle.
***
The blinking check engine light brought me prostrate, upon my knees. As I fought back the grief and tears, all I could do is croak, “Why hast thou forsaken me?” It all used to go down as smooth as a mint julep, whose recipe had been a family treasure since I was knee high to scavenging rodent.
Sure, mechanics say the first thing you should do is check your owner’s manual when this message lights up on your dashboard, but I always fancied myself as having an intuitive connection with the intimate internal doings of my vehicle. From the time I sat in the driver’s seat, turned the key and backed out of my driveway, I knew how she was doing. When I hit the highway, our conversation kicked it up a notch and we made a real connection. The feel, the sounds and smell all meant something to me. Idling, accelerating and taking hairpin turns were like our own little symphony, and I was Zubin Mehta. He’s a conductor, in case you’re wondering. People can love cars and Beethoven’s “Hammerklavier.”
Into the pit, the pendulum
And why should I bring my ride into one of those homogenized “Mickey Dee” lube shops when I can take care of it myself? I even installed a pit underneath the floor of the shop in my back yard. I always take care of my own.
This is why that little light hurt so much. What had I not done to keep her happy? Had I not loved her enough? Impossible! I wouldn’t believe it. It wasn’t me; it was her. I’m trying to give you an idea of how low I went, because that last one was the grief talking.
I figured that the only way to get the healing process started was to open the hood and take a look. I made sure I had plenty of time that evening to probe into my darling’s psyche of chrome, nuts and plugs. I figured something was going on with the power train. But what… I ask you… what?
I found my answer
The answer rose up and bit me on the nose. Literally.
It must have been some kind of cosmic joke. “Check engine.” Surprise! A raccoon jumps out like a snake out of a can of peanuts. Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting this. And since I opted out of my company’s health plan, I needed cash to pay for a trip to the ER. Cash I had, but it was cash I was saving for car care. So after receiving painful treatment – did I say the animal was rabid? – I was ready to focus on lady again.
I couldn’t drive her like that, with a blinking orange sign that may as well as have said, “My owner doesn’t care about me.” Just brand me with a scarlet lug nut and lock me in the basement of one of those lube shops. But what could I do? I’d used up my cash paying the doctor’s bill.
Help me help my lady
As I sank down into the depths of my backyard service pit, the strains of a radio commercial made it to my ears. An installment loan? It sounded easy. So I climbed back into the light and made the call. Within minutes, I managed to get approved for the money I figured I’d need for auto repair. Within a few hours, money was wired into my bank account. I was amazed by the whole process – and it didn’t cost terribly much for the service!
After all that, I managed to discover that the check engine light was coming on because my gas cap was loose. But I still had a reason to use the installment loan I received. As soon as I drove lady out of my shop, all four tires blew. Someone – or something – left a whole box of nails there for me to run over. I suspect raccoons, but they aren’t telling…
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