My car has been possessed.
Not repossessed, I pay my taxes and debts, but it has been possessed by an unknown entity and I do not appreciate it.
A few months ago one of the belts started squealing every time I’d start up the engine. Not a huge problem, but something that would eventually need to be taken care of. Four weeks ago my supportive and infinitely wealthier father took my car in for maintenance and had everything replaced. By “everything” I mean the belts (alternator, timing, etc.) as well as the water pump, spark plugs, and even put new wipers on!
Three weeks ago I took my car in to Les Schwab to get the tires rotated, and to see if they could find the cause of the “helicopter” noise the car made every time you veered right while driving between 45 and 50mph. Oh that was just because the last Les Schwab guy had put my brakes and rotors on incorrectly a year previously. Remember that mishap? I do because it cost my entire tax return. Whatever, I got free beef. Ok, back to the present. My Mazda also needed a new wheel bearing and alignment check. Thank you, Spokane potholes. Its okay, I got to spend most of the day with Lori and learned to make kettle corn at home. Tastes just like Pig Out in the Park!
Two weeks ago I was on my way to the gym when something popped under the hood and my poor Protege5 refused to idle without acting like it was going to die. Thankfully I made it to a dealership with an open mechanic shop on the weekend, and they replaced the spark plugs again! YAY! Apparently the first ones were too new. That, or my car is a… female dog (I’m trying to swear less, leave me alone)… and isn’t willing to try new things or branch out of her comfort zone at all. Dad was able to get a refund on the parts and labor cost from the first shop my car went to, so all is well that ends well, right?
Last Friday night I was headed to Cheney to pick up my sister so we could head to the Tri-Cities for Easter weekend. About a mile before the Cheney exit I smelled something weird and immediately checked all the gauges in my dash. Engine temperature pegged at hot. YAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!! Instead of letting out some swears, I called my Dad and calmly explained what was happening. Then I hung up and started screaming prayers like “DEAR GOD LET ME MAKE IT TO MEGAN’S SO I’M NOT STRANDED ON THE HIGHWAY WITH ALL THE CREEPERS!” Prayer is effective because I made it to Megan’s without being attacked by a stranger on the side of the road next to my dead car.
When I got to Megan’s she opened the door and made to grab her bag but I told her not to bother because my car was dying and we weren’t going to make it to Kennewick that night, to which she replied, “Awww, Jesus Weekend is ruined.” Then we played Super Mario Brothers on the Wii for three hours.
Saturday morning I checked under the hood in the light of day, because I’m a mechanic and know things about cars so obviously I’d be able to figure out the problem immediately. AND I’d probably be able to come up with a MacGuiver-esq solution as well. No, don’t be ridiculous. My car may as well be a guy for all I know about the subject. Anyway, I could see that there was antifreeze everywhere and with my massive brain power was able to deduce that antifreeze is typically contained in some sort of tank, not spewed haphazardly around the interior of an engine. Dad had told me to fill up the thingy that typically holds antifreeze with water and just stop once the car over heats. It took me over an hour to get from Cheney to my apartment. 15 miles.
After unloading all my crap and letting the car cool down again, I drove it back to the dealership and said, “It’s your problem now, bitches!” Eff, I’m not supposed to be swearing. Also, that’s not what I said. I explained to the guy as best I could what had happened, and he said at first glance something about cooling fans and things not working. Well… duh. I left the car there and my fake roommate Michelle came to pick me up. Then I spent the rest of Saturday riding my bike.
Around 5:45, 15 minutes before closing, the dealer called me and said they still hadn’t figured out the exact problem and would need to do a full diagnostic on Tuesday. Which is today. I haven’t heard anything yet.
In the meantime, my fantastic Grandma has been letting me borrow her Ford Ranger with the anti-war bumper sticker. Which I’ve been driving to work every day. You know, the place I work at with all the retired firemen and military guys who bleed red, white, and blue.
I’ve been trying to figure out why things like this keep happening specifically to my car. Could be a coincidence, could be a series of human errors, or it could be Satan needed a black car to get around Spokane in for awhile and he didn’t feel like going to the Tri-Cities to celebrate the fact that Jesus beat him in a death match because he doesn’t like reliving bad memories. I get it. I don’t really enjoy driving by my old middle school either.
I do believe that there is a specific reason for why all these car troubles have happened in quick succession, but I don’t know why yet. There is a possibility I will never know. Maybe Megan and I were saved from a fire-y car-crashy death. Maybe I was just supposed to stay and interact with people here. They have been unusually good weekends aside from all the expensiveness of getting a car fixed. I’ve seen the insides of quite a few apartments for rent on the lower South Hill, got to ride my bike everywhere, and Shelby had to drive me places which is awesome on account of I love hanging out with Shelbs. Or, maybe Megan and I just needed to play Super Mario. I don’t know.
I do know this is all pretty funny when you really think about it.
*IT WAS THE THERMOSTAT. TERMOSTUPID.