Car Talk (published 4/2007)

So since I was young, I dreamed of the day when I would own my own car. I kept a list of the ideal cars that I would someday own and agonized over paint choices.  My world was filled with potential: replica Chitty Chitty Bang Bangs, BMWs, Porches, Aston Martins. I knew what I wanted.
Then one day Mom drove the car home…my shiny blue…Toyota Corolla. Not that I’m complaining. It’s got great gas mileage and a roomy trunk. The back seat can also hold 6 people…7 in a real pinch.
And now that I’ve turned 19, the Catiemobile (or crapolla as some cruel and nonunderstanding folks have deemed him) recently turned over to 100,000. It was nice to share a birthday together, but it seems that some people have it out for the Catiemobile.
Especially since the oil incident. The Catiemobile is great, but he burns oil like it’s his job. And so our story begins. Names have been changed to protect the innocent…or at least the incompetent.  One night, I went home. I mentioned that the genie lamp had been flickering. So a man who happens to reside at my house and who looks a lot like my dad said he would go outside and fill the oil for me.
A few days later, the oil light kept mysteriously flickering on and  off. One night, my roommate Abby and I were at a party and we decided to go to Steak n Shake, and there was the Catiemobile, weeping oil from the front grill. It was terrifying. I drive my car…I don’t know how it works.
Well, we took it to the car place, and it turns out that that same person who looks remarkably like my dad had left off the oil cap when he refilled it, thusly nearly destroying the Catiemobile forever. But he’s not the only one who’s done dumb things.
Take, for example, the great key incident of 2006. It was my friend Rachel’s birthday. So, like any good friend, I decided to make her a 5 layer cake, and bring it to her. So I was driving safely like I always do, talking on my cell phone, choosing a CD and holding a five layer cake on my lap. I arrived at Rachel’s house, and delivered the cake, only to discover that I had locked my keys in the car.  Here was a problem. So I called my mom and she drove the 20 minutes to give me the keys. When we answered the door, she was…slightly annoyed.  It turns out that I may have accidentally left the driver’s side window down a little. Okay, actually it was wide open. But I SWEAR that I couldn’t tell from where I was standing!
Recently, the Catiemobile went through a name change. He is no longer the Catiemobile, but the Yetimobile. This is because whenever I turn left, my car gives a cry like a dying yeti. This is probably not a good thing, but  I figure until I see flames, I’ll leave it alone. I believe in holistic car healing. And in the fact that my brother should pay for the damages because he was the one who drove it though that nice old lady’s bushes and into a stop sign…
Maybe the newly christened Yetimobile will convince my parents that I really, really, really do need a van….

_________________________

Edit:

My car was recently renamed John The Baptist as it foretells my coming from at least two blocks away.

Thought you should know.

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