Yesterday, driving to work, my car died. Not only did my car die, my first car died. Now this is a really interesting place for someone to be when they are 41. Most first car mourners are what, 17? 18? I don’t know. But, I sure as hell have some 18 year old feelings right now. I am very angry at the rest of the world and want to make them pay. Except for my wife. She has been very nice to me. But I digress. My first car is dead and your city should burn. In hellfire.
I loved that car. I purchased it for $400 off of craigslist four years ago. A 1989 Pontiac Bonneville. The finest car ever made. Seriously. Here is a list of the things you could do from the buttons on the steering wheel alone:
- Control all aspects of the radio. Volume, station, frequency. Etc.
- Horn (which, incidentally, sounded like a wolf howling, lonesome, in the night)
- Cruise control
- Mood lighting. Yes that’s right. My car had a dimmer switch.
- Air conditioning.
- An emotion inhibitor for when I purposefully run over people – I can immediately forget and move on. I told you I was having issues with this.
That’s right. ALL OF THAT. What can your car’s steering wheel do? That’s right. it can make a meek little beep beep sound and shoot an airbag at your eyes at 70000mph if you run over a toothpick. Yeah. No. You can keep that.
My car also chose never to have blinkers. I supported her choice. I still do. Blinkers are for people without eyes or arms. And those people don’t need to be driving anyway. Except, in closed circuit televised death matches. That would be cool. Digress #2. My car never needed blinkers because it knew where it was going, even if I did not. I would wave my arms frantically out the window making the signal (i’m quite sure) for polar North. Most people (especially the police) thought that I was waving at them. Just for the record Boise, I was not. Keep dreaming.
The seat in my car was more comfortable than my king sized bed. It could also move up down, forward, back and tilt. There was also a special direction in which it would move randomly while I was driving, I called this direction “knees to the steering wheel.” It was my car’s way of me proving my love to it.
I will miss my car. I was prepared to send it down the Boise river, on fire, like a good warrior. Apparently, that is frowned upon.
I am unsure of how to proceed from here. I could have it looked at by a mechanic, I guess. But I know she is dead. I think I will just go sit in her and play that lovely sound of a wolf howling alone in the night until the battery dies. Or until the neighbors come over and knock me out with a brick. What ever comes first.