My Car

Hmm...

My Car
Nick Wilson
This is my car, sitting in the driveway. There are thousands of cars on the road, but this car is special. Why? Because it is my car, duh.

It isn’t the greatest car in the world, but it surely isn’t the worst. I drive a 1997 Mercury Grand Marquis. For those who are ignorant of cars, a Grand Marquis is essentially a Ford Crown Victoria, only its better. When someone asks why is it better? It is simply because I drive a Grand Marquis, not a Crown Victoria.

I step up to my car, she’s been good to me. It just goes to show you, if you love your car, it will love you back. She doesn’t look like a very well cared for car, but at over a decade old can you expect perfection? I am a college student after all.

It isn’t often enough that I take a moment to stroll around my car and see what she has to offer. The first thing anyone notices when they look at my car is that there seems to be some peeling going on. “Your paint is peeling.” They say. Well, no it isn’t. The paint is all still there, the peeling is from the clear coat. I’ve thought about peeling all of the clear coat off and starting again, but I don’t. I don’t have the time or the money.

The tires formerly had the “Bridgestone” label raised from the surface. They don’t anymore, they’ve been rubbed smooth from scraping the curb too many times. Somehow, over the years the suspension has raised and now it holds the car too high off of the ground.

The worst part about spring time anywhere is the massive amounts of pollen that get on your car. The worst part about spring in southern California is that massive amounts of pollen are just added to the dust that normally accumulates. I had washed my car a scant eight days ago and already the dust/pollen mixture was a quarter-inch thick.

Keyless entry is quite the advancement in modern technology. Too bad I don’t have it. I whip out my keys and shove the metal shaft into the keyhole. The familiar grinding greets my hand, with grace and ease I turn the key to the left. The lock comes undone and I pull open the door.
Ahh, the sweet, sweet smell of vanilla. I slide into my seat. I’ve spent so much time in this seat, it fits me like a glove. Nowhere else do I feel this confident, nowhere else do I feel this comfortable. Not the couch on Sunday, not my bed after eight hours of work and definitely not my desk chair in front of my computer. The air inside my car smells of vanilla because just about two years ago I shoved an air freshener in the air vent. With the greenhouse effect and 90 degree temperatures the freshener melted into the vent at some point or another. I don’t know the exact time, I just went to pull it out one day and it didn’t move. I pulled and pulled, the air freshener ripped and I gave up. It’s been there ever since.

I put the key in the ignition and turn. The engine turns over once, twice, three times, four times then catches. I love the sound of my V8 engine. I don’t know what brand of engine it is, or any of the other details actually, but it is a V8. It has 260 horsepower, or did eleven years ago. Whatever the case, I can get off the line.

I can get off the line so well, zero to 60 in five seconds, less even. As long as the transmission holds.

The air is stuffy in here. I would lower my windows, but alas, the motors are all burnt out. To keep the windows from falling down, I opened the doors and put a bolt in the track. It keeps the window up. For good. I rely on my stellar, super-amazing air conditioning. It just takes a couple of minutes to cool off the entire cabin. It is a full-sized sedan after all, that is a lot of warm air.
Once the air has reached a comfortable temperature, I turn down the fan and pull on my seatbelt. The clasp works right now, but it wasn’t too long ago I had dropped a dime down into the female part of the belt. I didn’t realize what had happened at first and I thought I broke my seatbelt. I found the dime and spent the better part of an afternoon trying to get it out with a couple of bobby pins.

I grab the gear shaft, it’s on steering column, and put the car into reverse. After I release the brake, the car is drifting backwards. With the ease and grace of an eagle in flight, I back out of the driveway, shift into drive and take off down the street.

My car lacks a few vital features, it is important to remember them before I drive onto a busy road. First, the headlights are very dim. All they are good for is to let people see I’m coming, I rarely see what I’m approaching. This I don’t have to worry about for twenty more minutes or so as twilight still offers enough light to drive by.

Second, my car makes an extremely loud grinding noise whenever I turn to sharp. My car uses struts instead of shocks to maintain a smooth ride, thus my wheels don’t like turning beyond a certain point.

Third, and this is probably the most important thing, my speedometer rarely works. The only way I have to check speed to gauge myself off of other cars on the road.
That being said, my car offers a very smooth ride, gets good gas mileage and in the dark it can be confused for either a cop car or a mafia/gangster car. Also, I can easily fit seven people in here, including myself.

Does my car get the ladies? No, but does it keep the ladies? Yes, it certainly does. It is always the same story. Woman says “Oh your car is so ugly.” Then I open the door for them, they sit down and get comfortable. I drive the car around and it becomes “Oh my, your car rides so smooth.” Then they rip off their shirts and try to have sex with me while I’m driving. I have to turn them down because I’m driving.

Ok, I’ll be honest, my car doesn’t make girls horny. The only cars that do that are either way out of my price range, or bounce around too much to be comfortable.

Wow, I was so busy narrating my life, and fantasizing about my car’s capabilities with women, that I just missed my turn. Oh well, that is why they invented the u-turn. (yew-ee).
There is no traffic on this street, so I ease myself over into the left hand lane. Soon enough the median ends and I am sitting at a traffic light. There is a “No U-Turn” sign, but this road is barren. I am literally the only car out here.

The traffic light switches to green, I crank the wheel. Clunk! goes my struts as I turn too sharply. It has become evident why there was no u-turn here, there just isn’t enough space for my large car to make the turn. It’s going to be close…

I can’t make it, my bumper hit’s the curb, it makes an ugly screeching noise, similar to a fork on a plate, or nails on a chalkboard. It seemed like forever, but the screeching has finally stopped. I straighten out the car and she rewards me as I push down the gas pedal and fly down the road in the right direction.

I travel maybe three-quarters of a mile when I hear the most dreadful sound any driver can hear. The quick blast of the police siren, the flashing lights come on and my inside of my car is bathed in blue.

Was he pulling me over for an illegal u-turn? Was I speeding? Did I forget to turn on my headlights? Is it illegal to hit a curb? Does this have something to do with my four unpaid parking tickets.

The icing on the cake, not that the situation I’m in is sweet and flavorful in any way, is that my driver’s license just expired three days ago. I’ve been meaning to get to the DMV, but I just hate that place. Plus, when I go to update my license I’m going to have to pay my parking tickets. They have to be $200 each by now. Can parking tickets even get that high?

I pull over to the side of the road, and for one fleeting moment I hope the cop just passes me by.
He pulls over too.

Pardon me for a second. “Damn!” Wow, that didn’t cut it. I have the whole realm of swears before me and all I can come up with is damn? Gadzooks would have been better.

I’d better make up for it. “Dashuck!” Well, at least I tried. Note to self, combing all three major swears doesn’t work.

The cop sits in his car as he takes note of my license plate. That little computer is letting him know of my traffic history. He sees that I was rear-ended in January of ‘05. That I got a speeding ticket in Ohio, summer of ‘06. That I got four parking tickets here in California: October ‘06, January ‘07, March ‘07 and July’07.

I turn off my engine and headlights. With gas prices where they are at, I don’t want to add insult to injury.

The cop eventually gets out of his car and walks up to my window. He taps his flashlight on my window and I make a move to open my door. He quickly slams the door closed on me and pulls out his side arm. Why is he so jumpy?

I hold my hands up, showing that I have nothing in them. “Window doesn’t work!” I say loudly. The cop, keeping his gun leveled at me, takes one step back from the door and motions for me to open it. I slowly oblige.

Fear is normally a stabbing thing, something that hits you in a wave. It’s just like “Woah! I am so scared right now!” This fear wasn’t that stabbing fear. It was cumulative. I went from supreme frustration, to defeated, to this slowly building terror. Looking down the barrel of a gun will do that to you. It is one thing to pull out a gun, it is entirely different level it and keep it pointing in your general direction.

The cop makes a move with his thumb on the gun. Did he just turn off the safety?
I finally finish pushing the door all of the way open. I look at the cop, my hands are head level with my palms facing forward. The cop pulls his flashlight off of his belt again and points it at my face. He leans his face over to his radio and says something unintelligible.
I’m suddenly very gassy. The pressure on my lower abdomen is so intense I start to keel over. The cop sees this, pulls his face away from his radio and renews his grip on his gun. The pressure is building. The cop looks nervous.

Rrrrripshooo! That fart nearly sent me airborne, uh oh pbb pbb pbb pbb pbb. Aftershock.
The cop visibly relaxes as I sit back up. Then he recoils, holsters his pistol and starts waving his hand through the air. He’s nearly gagging.

“Come on! It wasn’t that bad.” I say out loud. The first thing I’ve said all night.
The cop holds up one finger, letting me know to give him one second, while he walks over behind the car and starts coughing.

A breeze picks up and carries my expulsion away. The cop recovers and comes back around to talk to me. “License and registration please.”

I have both forms of documentation ready. My expired driver’s license, my registration slip and my insurance information were all in my hand. He takes them from me and starts with the license.

His eyes rove over the picture, then back to me. He nods to himself, then starts to look over the plastic card again. He’s going to see the expiration date soon. The fear is back, my heart is pounding and my armpits are pumping sweat.

His radio cackles. “Hadley?”

The cop stops looking at my license and brings his mouth to the radio. Again I can’t understand what he says as he talks into it.

“Middle-aged black male, roughly 350 lbs. Partner is middle-aged white female, roughly 110 lbs.” The radio cackles again.

What does that mean?

The cop says something along the lines of “Roger” and turns his attention back to me. He smiles uneasily and hands me license, registration and insurance card. “Sorry sir.”

“What just happened?” I say.

“Well, there was a 7/11 robbery twenty minutes ago. The perps left the scene in a green sedan, supposedly a Crown Victoria. We just got a physical description on the bad guys. Sorry to have wasted your time, sir.”

“Oh, it isn’t a problem at all. Thank you for maintaining law and order.” I say as the cop goes back to his car. I close my door, start my engine and gently roll away.

I feel light as a feather, the fear and grief had just evaporated. I feel good, that high you get after an adrenaline rush.

I’m approaching a red light, but just as I start to step on the brake the light turns green. Oh, life is good. I step on the gas pedal with glee. The engine would hum, but the valve cover are all rusted and instead I all I hear is their tortured flapping.

In the middle of the intersection I take a look to my left. Headlight are approaching fast…
I squeeze my eyes shut and grip my steering wheel with all my might. I hear the carnage, Boom! Crack, screeeeeech! I can feel the g-forces as my car is sent spinning. I’m bouncing around inside my car, eyes still closed, for what feels like an eternity.

The crash comes to an end soon enough. I open my eyes and I am looking out over the intersection. Another car is sitting in the middle of the road, completely demolished. There is a hole in the windshield. Oh my, there is the body of a little blond woman lying mangled out on the street.

The driver pops out of his car, a large black man, and he takes off running. He doesn’t get far as a cop car shows up and runs him down. It’s the cop from ten minutes ago.

Talk about coincidence, those must be the 7/11 robbers.

Back to my situation, I was just involved in a high speed collision. I wasn’t traveling to fast, but they had to have been, judging by how far the girl flew. Wow, my neck and shoulders are really sore.

Really, really, really, really sore. Also, my door doesn’t seem to be opening. I slide across the seat and exit through the passenger door. I walk around to look at the damage. I was t-boned, right in the middle of the driver’s side of my car. The two doors were dented, and the frame may or may not be dented a little bit.

I looked over to the other car, it was absolutely demolished. The front end was crushed all of the way back to the cockpit, the transmission was laying on the side of the road and the engine was sitting in the passenger seat.

You know what else I love about my car? It’s a tank.