The following post was a loving homage about my former car written for a contest on the Conan O’Brien show. On the show he asked people to send in stories about their cars. He would then pick one story and blow up the owner’s car on television. I didn’t get picked, but I like my story none the less. That car kept me on the road for 14 years, took me across the United States several times, and was my best friend at times.
It was the summer of 1996.
I was 26, working odd jobs as a tape rewinder for Books on Tape in glorious Orange County, California. There wasn’t much work out there for a stage manager in those days; I took whatever job came my way as long as it was near a bus stop.
On my last day of work, as I walked away from the building, it started raining… a heavy coarse rain like never seen before. Dogs and cats were falling from the sky and I screamed to the heavens, why me? Why me, God?!
God answered my prayers in the form of a sparkling new deep emerald green machine…and so did my mother by co-signing the load contract to make it happen.
The days were good to us. I loved my car and it loved me.
El Nino, jealous of my 4 door, automatic window, tilt back support, American made machinery, unceremoniously dropped a tree on the hood. Fortunately, my insurance covered the mischief of the storm and the hood was replaced, but replaced with what?
The sun ate away at the hood, ray by ray, peeling the delicate clear coat back like one painful hangnail after another…and that wasn’t all.
My car became a slave to the film industry. After dragging jug after jug of artificial blood, sharp implements of destruction and mittens, the inside of my car looked like a teenager after his first shave.
I squelch my anger over these memories by gripping the steering wheel, causing it to disintegrate faster.
So now, here it is 12 years, later. This once beautiful, yet sensible sedan is a limping visage of what it once was. There will be no Happy Happy Joy Joy songs over this GM POS any more. It doesn’t even deserve a home inside my garage because it pees oil constantly.
Please, Conan, if you have any sympathy, please give my baby what she deserves. A powder keg of dynamite might be enough to send her to heaven where Saturns frolic on gleaming test tracks and long autobahns… oh who am I kidding.
This car is going to hell.
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