A Conversation With My Car

I moved on from this car a year later.  Looking back, maybe this is why...

A Conversation with My Car
April 9, 2013

I really need to move on from the car that I've had for quite some time, but like a loyal friend, I refuse to let go.  In the past three months, though, my car has caused me to get major repairs to parts of the car that I didn't know existed until I brought it to a repair shop.  It is quite possible, in fact, that these parts were made up by the repairmen -- a sort of practical joke that is funny only to people who understand cars.  For example, I needed to get a new belt that connects my accelerator to my engine.  A belt, really?  Totally sounds made up...

Just recently, I had to get a new fuel pump.  There is no way that is a real thing either...

I just wish I had a way of knowing what my car really needed.  Like a good psychologist talking to a person in need of help, I have to dig beneath the surface to see what is really wrong, not what someone thinks is wrong because this so-called "belt" was burned or this fuel pump -- again, totally not a real thing -- is no longer pumping.  I would begin by telling my car that everything will be okay and that I will not judge it or look at it any differently if it shares its problems with me.  I would also apologize for not giving it a name and for referring to it as, well, "it."  Then the deep part of the discussion would begin...

Me: Seriously, car, can you knock it off and just work?

Car: Please, boy, you did not just say that to me.

Okay, so this approach probably would not work.  I would need to calm down first and gently stroke the car's ego.

Me: You are amazing, car, I just want to tell you that.  Even when something goes wrong, you are the best.

Car: Thanks.  For addressing me so nicely, I will now talk to you.

Me: I'm here to help, car.  I really do want what is best for both of us.

Car: That's all I ever wanted, too.  Well, that, and for you to maybe vacuum me every once in a while -- and maybe use the premium gas.

Me: I didn't think you were one of those snobby cars that needed premium.  I've been using regular in order to, you know, keep it real.

Car: Good call.  And that's a good reason for not vacuuming either.  Those pistachio shells give me identity and charm.

After about three hours of this small talk, I would hope that the car would be able to open up.  Maybe it will tell me that it's time to move on -- that we need to separate because it's what is best for the both of us.  Maybe the car will just need some time away from me.  Maybe I'm cramping its style.  These are diagnoses that people who work in auto shops will never give, partially because people would probably not be too happy to pay $600 to receive those words and partially because I don't think repair people really care enough to talk to cars the way that they should.  I think people who fix cars (and those who write about them) should pass psychology exams in order to receive proper certification.  In the meantime, I will search the Internet for help from complete strangers who answer questions in forums.  I'm sure it's what my car would want...

But I digress.

Popular posts from this blog

The Five Rules of Facebook -- Still!

Know yourself (or at least your pizza)

Theft with Consent