My car is like an abusive girlfriend
There are the good times. Today my car and I took a trip to Chicago. It went very smoothly. There wasn't even the usual excessive shaking above 70 miles per hour, although there was the faint but noticably unpleasant smell. At times like these I remember why I wanted a car in the first place.
But then, we tried to go to Chicago once before, just yesterday, and we only got about 7 miles north on I-279 before a tire blew out. Fortunately there was not much traffic, so no one was hurt. But I did have to renew my AAA membership (they charge you extra if you sign up and ask for road service the same day) and get a new tire. Also, these things took enough time that the trip had to be postponed.
That would be easy enough to overlook, but the problems are more pervasive. This is the fourth flat tire in the last year and a half. Then there were the two break-ins, the first of which resulted in the unpleasant smell, and the second of which you have already heard about. And there are the yearly inspections, which we never pass without at least some work. And the registration. And the insurance. And the fuel. I don't even want to talk about the parking fees.
Every time there's a new problem, or a new expense, I find myself talking about getting rid of my car--behind its back, of course, with my friends and family. "I've had enough," I say, "I can't take it anymore. I've got to get rid of it." But then I get the window repaired, or the tire replaced, and everything seems fine again, at least for a while. I know it's an illusion; I don't even drive much, and the bad times definitely outweigh the good. The trouble is I've been with my car long enough now that, consciously and unconciously, I've started planning my life around the assumption that we will always be together. The thing is, just a year and a half ago I didn't have a car, and I was happy then. But habit has worked its magic, and now I can't quite envision life without it. I don't even live within convenient walking distance of a grocery store anymore. So I selectively remember the good times, and I put up with the expense, the hassle, all for that drive home at Christmas. "It's cheaper than flying," I tell myself. But I know it's not true.
But then, we tried to go to Chicago once before, just yesterday, and we only got about 7 miles north on I-279 before a tire blew out. Fortunately there was not much traffic, so no one was hurt. But I did have to renew my AAA membership (they charge you extra if you sign up and ask for road service the same day) and get a new tire. Also, these things took enough time that the trip had to be postponed.
That would be easy enough to overlook, but the problems are more pervasive. This is the fourth flat tire in the last year and a half. Then there were the two break-ins, the first of which resulted in the unpleasant smell, and the second of which you have already heard about. And there are the yearly inspections, which we never pass without at least some work. And the registration. And the insurance. And the fuel. I don't even want to talk about the parking fees.
Every time there's a new problem, or a new expense, I find myself talking about getting rid of my car--behind its back, of course, with my friends and family. "I've had enough," I say, "I can't take it anymore. I've got to get rid of it." But then I get the window repaired, or the tire replaced, and everything seems fine again, at least for a while. I know it's an illusion; I don't even drive much, and the bad times definitely outweigh the good. The trouble is I've been with my car long enough now that, consciously and unconciously, I've started planning my life around the assumption that we will always be together. The thing is, just a year and a half ago I didn't have a car, and I was happy then. But habit has worked its magic, and now I can't quite envision life without it. I don't even live within convenient walking distance of a grocery store anymore. So I selectively remember the good times, and I put up with the expense, the hassle, all for that drive home at Christmas. "It's cheaper than flying," I tell myself. But I know it's not true.
posted by gregates at 9:51 PM
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