Exhausted

I know it’s traditional to call ships ‘she’; what about cars?  Seems a little weird.  My car didn’t look feminine.  If it was a lady, it was a pretty butch one.  A butch lady.  Maybe.  Frankly, unlikely.  Frankly, that makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.  The thought that I was regularly riding a mannish lesbian suddenly puts all those journeys to Milton Keynes in an entirely new light.  Still, I was fond of the Old Girl.  Actually, now I think about it, it’s more camp than butch.  Yes, definitely a camp car.  Orange, you see.  Called ‘Blaze’ in the brochure. It was called ‘Baby Sick Yellow’ in the pub. Camp.  As mustard.  Yes, now that makes me feel a whole lot better, riding around in a screamingly camp car.  Suddenly a number of curious incidents with truck drivers make sense.

Anyway: gone.  We’d taken it in for a handful of minor repairs.  You know, tip of the exhaust had fallen off, a couple of bits of trim loose, faulty handbrake light.  That sort of thing.  Minor.  Slightly bothersome.  Nothing to worry about.  By the time we drove into the garage, it was dead.  It’s only a short drive too.

‘What’s that leak?’ our friendly mechanic asked.  And I’m not being sarcastic.  He’s always friendly.  Certainly pleased to see me.  Maybe it’s because, as he sucks air through his teeth, he’s glad it’s not his?

“What leak?”
‘That one.’
“Where?”
‘There.  The one gushing fluid from the gear box.’
“Oh yes.”
‘And there’s another there.’
“Oh good.  Good job I bought it in then.”
‘I’ll say.’  He rubbed his oily hands as though cleaning them and looked suspiciously like Fagin.

A couple of hours later he called.
‘I’ve got some good news and some bad news.’ he said brightly.
Why do I know that’s always a lie?  Or at least only half true.  And why does that phrase make me want to punch someone really hard?
“Oh yes?” I said, trying not to humour him.
‘I’ve found out what the problem is.’
“Is that the good news or the bad news?” I asked
‘Eh?’ he replied, slightly hurt that I wasn’t really playing along and, at the same time, missing the deeper metaphysical question I’d posed.  He carried on:
‘It’s coming from your gear box.  It’ll have to come out.  Might mean the clutch is a bit iffy too.  I have to take that out too so we can check.  And you’ve bust a brake pipe.  Lucky you didn’t want to stop quickly on the way here.’
“All in all, it doesn’t sound good.”
He sucked some more air through his teeth.
“How much?”
‘Well could be anything between a tenner and three hundred and eighty-nine thousand pounds.  Won’t know ‘til we get it all out.  ‘Course that will cost you three hundred.’
“Uh hu.  But it’s not worth that is it?  Not with it’s age and mileage”
‘And colour.’ he added helpfully.
“Yes, thank you.”

I bent over the windscreen. 

I whispered, “Sorry old girl.  Boy.” I corrected myself, “We’ve had some good times together.  And some uncomfortable ones - what with that gear stick and all.  But you know, there comes a time in every relationship when things change.  People change.  Time to move on.  It’s not you.  It’s me.  Things are moving too quickly.  I’m just not ready.  You’re too good for  me.  You deserve better.  I think of you more as a sister.  Brother.  Friend.  I hope we can still be friends.”

I kissed the wing mirror tenderly.

“What’s it worth - scrap?”

Comments

[Mrs RW]

Painful, isn't it? Not the giving away part. The part where you start looking for a new car and realize that a new car now costs twice the price of what you paid for the old one; and that's for the basic model. If you want optional equipment, oh say, wheels and an engine, that'll cost you another arm and leg.

The good news: now that you're a "family man" you'll certainly want to be looking at practical, safe vehicles. Think beige Volvo... with 6 airbags and plenty of room for S's carseat and her future soccer friends that you'll be ferrying to and fro.

I'm sorry to say your days of dreaming about buying a red Porsche are long gone...well, maybe not; dreams are all you have left.

[jon]

Take her stock car racing for a final hurrah. It's she'd want.

Or better still, take her here -

http://www.tanks-alot.co.uk/crush_a_car.htm

May she rust in peace.

My car's started making strange noises but I've managed to fix it by turning the stereo up very loud. I'll have a look at your too if you like? It's not a problem

[Carlton]

That's one of the cheeriest notes anyone has ever left, Mrs RW!!! Dreams would be fine - because dreams would indicate that I was getting some sleep. Now there's a dream!

Jon, I wish you'd be on hand at the moment of crisis. Your stereo fix sounds like it would have sorted everything out. And knowing what a mechanical genius you are, a quick look over by your trained eye would make me feel much better.

Sadly some might say that my normal style of driving so closely resembles Stock Car Racing that that is the cause of the current problem.

c.