Overwhelming demand (one person asking) for more information about my car has moved me to reveal the legacy of my life as a car owner. To understand my current car plight, one must know the cars that preceded it.
June 1993 -- My parents gave me a 1981 Monte Carlo. Shortly thereafter, an old man hit the Monte in the Rally's parking lot on Madison Street. I gave him a hand gesture he did not appreciate.
October 1993 -- A Ball State basketball player rear-ended the Monte in front of LaFollette Complex. This was the only thing he hit all year. As he was bigger than me, I did not make a similar hand gesture in his direction. Dad sold the accursed car to his sister for more than he paid.
June 1994 -- A $150 1981 Pontiac Phoenix was bestowed upon me as a reward for taking care of the Monte Carlo. To highlight this car's quality, when I would turn the key off, the Phoenix would continue to run. The car also made various noises while I drove, including spontaneous, non-stop horn honking. To combat this, I simply turned up my AM radio and acted unaware. Later, Dad sold that car for more than he paid.
September 1994 -- My parents gave me a 1986 Mercury Lynx. As I took my "new car" for a drive, I could hear them laughing. I drove this car for a few years without incident.
December 1997 -- While taking flowers to my grandmother (really) on a cold, rainy afternoon, I slid out of control on Memorial Drive and totaled my Lynx. Dad opted to repair the car and made me drive it for several more months.
Aug. 1998 -- I received a 1988 Oldsmobile Calais in a bizarre family trade/gambling loss. As I drove it for the first time, my friends Dave and Turvey and I sang a happy driving song ("Tom Sawyer" by Rush). Five miles later, the car died. We stopped singing.
Dave and Turvey, who by description are "burly," got out and pushed the car to the side of the road. The three of us began hitchhiking. An elderly couple in a minivan took us back to my parents' house, where I politely informed my parents about the car, using words such as "piece" and "crap."
Throughout the next few years, the car would continue to remind me of its quality, a nickel and a dime at a time.
June 2001 -- My esteemed former roommate and I left my dome light on, which killed my battery. I managed to get the only English-speaking tow truck driver in Chicago. He attached my car, and as we were preparing to leave, a grocery truck drove by and hit the tow truck.
Seconds later, the grocery truck driver also hit a parked car. Incidentally, let's just say the driver did nothing to break any known gender-related driving stereotype. I spent the next four hours at the local police precinct, saying the following:
"Hi, my car is on the back of this man's tow truck which was hit by this [person's] grocery truck which subsequently hit this man's parked car. Can I have my car back now?"
Present day -- My car has developed a curious popping noise. Also, the driver's door no longer opens from the inside. I now have to roll the window down and reach out. Usually, this is in the rain.
In short, my car is for sale and this is the longest, most honest classified ad ever. With any luck, I can sell it to a relative or friend for more than I paid.
Write to John at kingseyeland@hotmail.com
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