If there is one thing that can be counted on causing problems, it is the car. Or any vehicle, really. Just when you start to trust it, when you believe you've found the most reliable, that this car is the one you were meant to be with, it will all blow up in your face. Such is the relationship of this girl to her car.
I must say that my current relationship with my Chevy Malibu is not nearly as rocky as my past relationships: It's not as unpredictable as my Ford Ranger's topper that would fly off on the hwy on my way to school, or it's heater that would decide when it wanted to work, which was typically in the summer. This meant I had to drive to church in a snowmobile suit and Sorel boots, scraping the inside of the windshield with an ice scraper. It's much less annoying than my Ford Escort's engine that was so loud I would end up with a headache and ears ringing if I had to go more than forty miles per hour for too long, so I couldn't hear the radio...even if it had worked... And it's less dangerous than the van that I swear took me into the ditch three times before I finally spun on ice and rammed the back end into a tree...I sure showed that van who's boss.
No, my Malibu has been much better. That is, until last week. I should have seen it coming! Looking back, I see all the signs of trouble, but I wanted to believe this one was different! The chugging, the occasional stalls when I would start it up, the delay between shifting gears, it all was trying to tell my something: it's just like every other car.
It was going to take something big to wake me out of my denial. Well, that wake up call finally came. I had just left from having coffee with a friend, and my car chugged again as I started it. I had a foreboding feeling, but it kept running, so I hoped for the best and made a mental note that I should get that checked out "sometime". Shortly after getting on 35W almost into downtown, I realize I'm not accelerating anymore. The end was near. I pulled over to the far side while I still had momentum, and turn it off. I turned it on again, but it wouldn't stay running.
That was the moment I could have chosen to freak out and curse the people who told me the Malibu was more reliable, or I could take a deep breath, accept that cars will always let you down, and call a tow truck. So that's what I did.
A long tow, two days in the shop, and an entire fuel pump system later, my car and I are reunited. It will never be like it was, but there is a renewed level of trust, combined with a little more reality. It will probably let me down again, but heck, I'm not always the nicest to work with either!
As I write this, my mother is nursing her Blazer back from Iowa, in which they need to stop every 20 minutes to add water to the radiator. I told her to leave it on the side of the road. "No way! I just got a new transmission and a new gas tank! I'm not letting this one go!" was her response. It's amazing the destructive situations people will stay in, when they have so much put into it already.
Wait, am I talking about cars or people? Everything in this blog is factual in relation to my experience with vehicles. How are your relationships?
