I got my car back Friday after three days in the shop.
The dent, left courtesy of some jerk somewhere in the great unknown, is gone, and I can tell that my car is happier. She told me so just this morning.
She’s a wonderful car, one of the most beautiful in the world, and after driving a loaner for three days, I only love her more.
In the old days, when I drove a Ford Aspire, anything was an upgrade. Honestly, I looked forward to the next dent or accident so I could get a rental car for a few days.
It’s not that way any more. I love my car now. We’ve been together for a year and a half now, and I still feel this way about her. I spend years alone every day I don’t see her. She’s all I need. Her dark beauty is only surpassed by ?
Enough. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again. Melodrama over a car. For crying out loud.
No offense to you folks who happen to drive them, but the loaner I got stuck with ? I mean had the opportunity to use so I didn’t have to walk ? was a 1992 Pontiac Bonneville.
While not completely gutless, zero to 60 in five minutes is pretty dull driving. Everything in the car was in the wrong spot too. My car has everything in the right spot, exactly the right spot. This car had everything in the wrong spot, exactly the wrong spot.
The worst thing though was the dashlights. Wednesday night as I headed for the Sweet Home Economic Development Group membership meeting, the sun had fallen. I turned the lights on. This car had red dashlights.
It must have taken me three hours to drive the 12 blocks to the meeting. Every time my eye caught the red, I had to fight an urge to stop completely and wait for a green light.
I’m not a grandparent yet, but I felt like one. This car was longer than my house. If I believed in omens, I would take this as a sign and have a serious chat with my son (he’s a little young to be a parent).
Firiel Severns, our resident grandma car driver, thought the whole thing was quite funny. She complimented me on the loaner. She drives something similar, a LeSaber or some such French-sounding thing, and she actually likes it.
The other problem with loaners and rentals is the smoking thing.
Unlike most of my buddies who smoke, I bought my car and never kidded myself about whether I was going to smoke in it. I got some seat covers to protect the original upholstery from the errant cherry and happily started puffing my way down the road.
It’s all good until it’s time to get a rental. Most rentals and loaners come with a smoking ban. Needless to say, three days to a week in a no-smoking rental is a pretty tough sentence to take.
A secret handbook available only to smokers tells how to get away with smoking in non-smoking cars (we all know an air freshener is a sure sign someone is trying to cover up something, like smoking in a non-smoking car). It requires effort, and sometimes it’s just not worth it. Needless to say, following the directions in the secret handbook available only to smokers or not smoking is almost like a punishment for having a car in the shop.
Still, I’m glad I had the loaner. Without it, I would have had plenty to smoke trudging dozens of miles.