Sprung At Last

The problems I had during Snowpocalyse reminded me how much I missed my trusty old Subaru. It had its share of dings and hadn’t been fancy to begin with, but it got the job done.

I drive to my eye doctor one day, and there’s construction in the area, which means there’s a detour: if you’re not paying attention, you might not realize until the last second that you can’t go straight and you might suddenly swerve in front of another car and only then realize that you’ve got a red light too and then brake suddenly, at an angle.

This is what the lady in front of me does, and the nice thing about Minis is that they can stop pretty quickly – there’s not much car to stop, after all. But something doesn’t feel right – I remember how my old car’s antilock brakes used to feel, and the Mini has antilock brakes, and this felt … different. Still, it stopped fine and I thanked my lucky stars and considered it a warning to go in and get that airbag light fixed permanently, stopping by my mechanic on the way home and scheduling the work for a few days later. I forget to mention that there’s a funny sound coming from the back of my car now – it only happens sometimes, when I brake. Easy to forget.

The light has been on for so long that when it’s fixed,  I find it a bit unnerving, but I start to get used to it and feel a bit more normal driving – a bit less alert, though this may have something to do with the fact that I’m exhausted and being pulled in a million directions: I have a large event planned for that Saturday, which involves me speaking publicly, and a rescue dog that I’ve agreed to foster and need to pick up the following Monday. On Friday evening, I’m driving back from The Child’s sleepover where I delivered the sleeping bag she forgot, on my way to the store to get the last few things I need for the event, that I forgot, and my phone rings about the rescue dog I’m supposed to pick up on Monday so I answer it even though I’m driving, because cell phone use is only only a secondary offense in Washington – you can’t get pulled over for it unless you also happen to be speeding or something, which I’m not.

Or at least, that’s what I thought, right until the police car pulled me over. The officer was nice about it and not even seem upset that I couldn’t find my registration – which I knew was there, I distinctly remember putting it there after the last time I got pulled over. She heads back to her car saying, just hold it out the window if you find it but I’m not worried about it. I shift the car into park.

Or at least, that’s what I thought, right until the moment my car stopped with a jolt, and I discovered I had actually shifted into reverse. I had backed into the police car, and even better, I had done so in such a way that we could not get our bumpers apart.

We have time to figure it out, though. Since she was involved in the accident, she can’t write it up, and we have to wait for another officer to arrive. You would think it would take only a few minutes, what with being  around the corner from the police station, but – presumably because there’s no danger whatsoever that I will flee, or perhaps because if I did flee I wouldn’t be too hard to catch, towing a police car with a Mini – it takes a half hour for the other officer to arrive. This officer is mercifully able to figure out how to get the two bumpers apart, and there’s no damage to the police car, and what appears to be only minimal damage to the Mini, which isn’t even noticeable when a piece of plastic trim is clicked back into place.

The big event goes off without a hitch on Saturday, but as I drive home, I realize that sound is still there: the one from the back of my car.  I call the mechanic to describe it, and he sounds alarmed. Bring it back in, he says. It’s Monday, and he has an opening on Thursday.

Great, I say. So it’s safe to drive then? The foster dog is an hour’s drive, and I’ve promised to get her that evening.

No, he says. You know what? Bring it in tomorrow.

I cancel the dog pickup, and bring the car in as instructed, only to learn that the brake calipers have seized. The only thing I understand about that statement is this – it will cost $800+ to fix and, no, the car isn’t safe to drive without it.

The mechanic is scratching his head – this car does not have that many miles on it, he says. This should not have happened.

In the past, I have told him my plan for this car: drive it a few years and turn then hand it down to The Child. The mechanic always joked with me, Why? Don’t you love her?

The repairs have have pretty much eaten up the money I’d hoped to use for vacation, but I hold on to hope we might still be able to take our planned summer trip to Alaska, and I don’t let go of it until the next morning, when we start to head out of the house and the garage door stops opening just an inch too low to get a Mini out.

I can take a hint, especially when the universe delivers it with sledgehammer subtlety: Underwater or not, it’s time to replace the car.

The initial problems with the Mini got sorted out – mostly – probably helped along by the fact that I filed a complaint with the State Attorney General’s office, which has an online form just for car purchases, along with some helpful articles about car dealer scams that I wish I’d read before I went in to the dealer, just to test-drive. But it was a fast little car that was fun to drive and easy to park, and came with a Vampire Weekend CD that the previous owner had left behind and turned out to be perfect for those rare Seattle days when you can drive with the sunroof open.

Mostly, the Mini didn’t give me any trouble that couldn’t be fixed by a trip to my mechanic, who would roll his eyes and tsk, tsk me for buying it, then re-set whatever sensor I’d managed to trip and charge me the bare minimum. But strange things happened, for example, the right headlight kept going out, due to faulty bulbs, and though it seemed odd that one car should be the recipient of so many faulty bulbs, no loose connection or other possible cause could be found. One of the dashboard airbag alert lights went on after some of The Child’s friends screwed around with the seat. It was re-set, but a few days later, suddenly lit again for no apparent reason.

I decided to ignore it, which is easy enough to do when you’re paying attention to all the little creaks and rattles, which the car had a lot of. I also began watching my speedometer like a hawk: I got pulled over one day for being six miles over the limit, and not long after that, I a police car suddenly appeared behind me on a hill where people often speed. I didn’t get a ticket that day, but I got the message: We’ve got an eye on you. Clearly, bright little cars get noticed, even when they’re not red.

I tried to decide if I should do something about the car – like get rid of it. It was too small for the Red Dog and too small for The Child’s friends; but all the online car pricing estimators have to tell me is how deep I am in the hole on this car.

The hole was as deep as a well, or perhaps some other sort of pit.

 

When The Departed left, it was after a number of very large purchases had been made. Some of those purchases, not surprisingly, involved loans or other debt, but he wasn’t paying it, and after one expensive letter from my lawyer to his, I realized I would be better off somehow managing the debt myself until I could find my way to a divorce.

This is a problem, when you have more bills than income.

Immediately after he left, I found myself with two cars: the first, a beat-up old Subaru that didn’t look like much, but was paid for and probably only approaching its automotive half-life. The second was its replacement, a large luxury SUV that we had bought only a few months earlier – which was not even close to paid for in spite of a large down payment. Since his departure was so abrupt, decisions were made quickly: The Subaru belonged to me outright and was sold, with the proceeds used to hire my lawyer. The SUV was jointly titled, so I paid the large monthly bill and figured it would all be worked out when we finally sat down and divided things up.

Except that took a lot longer than anyone expected it to, and so, after months of large car payments, one expensive letter,  and a couple of sobbing phone calls, my lawyer  suggested that I should go test drive a car and maybe get a value on the SUV as a trade in. It’s so new, he said, there probably won’t be much you can do about unloading it. But, go find out and I’ll call his attorney.

So one sunny Sunday, The Child and I drove a large luxury SUV up to the car dealership a minute from our house, the one that sold cute little European cars in fun colors. The SUV had every possible bell and whistle on it – DVD player, heated front and rear seats – and I surmise that this was how they heard me coming.

And they did, because what started as a test drive of a new car on a sunny morning turned into the day that would not end which gradually became the early evening in which I bought a used car – but with a lower monthly payment. No worries about my not-yet-ex-husband’s signature; they’d take care of that. No worries about driving a used, un-inspected European car; their extended warranty would cover me.

I started trying to undo the deal almost as soon as I got home. I knew I’d been taken, which was confirmed a when they called a few days later and asked me to “come back in, there’s been a problem with financing.” You can tell me a lot of lies about cars, but I know a few things about credit, what with working in the banking industry for more than 20 years, and my credit is perfect.

Great, I said, let’s undo this. Please bring the SUV up the road to my house.

They told me they’d already sold it, another story that stunk: It was not possible they’d obtained The Departed’s needed signature that quickly, and in any case, it was still listed on their website.

The financing issue went away, as did the promise to make repairs, and the return phone calls from their mechanic.

I panic, and call my own mechanic, who inspects the vehicle. It’s fine, he says, as Minis go, but these cars are nothing but problem after expensive problem.

You are going to regret this car.