Ladies and gentlemen…

I have a car.

Again.

Those of you following along closely will remember that my last car met an untimely demise last month, shortly before our three month anniversary (“our” referring to myself and the car… I told you I was a bit attached to it). For the record, it wasn’t my fault.

Fortunately, the death of my car coincided with my little brother’s loss of license, so I was able to use that to get back and forth to work, and to all the super-fun and trendy places I go during my day to day life. Like the grocery store. Unfortunately, Brother’s car, which I’ve nicknamed The Beast, is butt ugly. It’s a Pontiac 6000. Never heard of it? Yeah, I think that’s because they stopped making them circa 1975. You have to start the damn thing five or six times before it will actually stay running, and then a fan belt squeals like a stuck pig driving a car with a squealy fan belt. It burns through gas so inefficiently that I’m beginning to suspect the gas tank has rusted clean through and I’m leaving a Hansel and Gretel style trail wherever I go. That is, if Hansel and Gretel were into pyrotechnics.

Whenever I mention these mechanical defects to someone (in a strictly non-complaining way), they invariably reply, “Oh well, it gets you from point A to point B!” At which point I karate chop them in the knee caps, because they wouldn’t be so optimistic about it if they had to drive it. I have to open at work a lot, which means being there at 6, which means squealing through residential neighborhoods at 5:45 in the morning. People have started waiting for me with eggs.

So praise the Lord, I’ve got a car. And it’s adorable. It’s a seafoam green 1995 Toyota Tercel, and it’s lovely. A little duct tape in the backseat, a little (okay, a lot) of leftover cigarette smell, a few dents and dings, but really she’s a sweet little thing. No rust. However, I’m scared to death of her because she’s a standard. I’ve got about 35 minutes worth of experience with standards, and most of those came from the drive home. I’ve been reading up a little bit on shifting basics, but I’m gonna level with you; I don’t even know what they mean by ‘rev matching,’ or the ‘friction point.’ Pretty much, I just let out the clutch, step on the gas, and hope the transmission doesn’t blow up, and so far I’ve been fairly successful. I’ll spend some time tomorrow fine-tuning my technique.

It’s like with a horse; you’ve just got to pretend you’re not scared and pray you don’t stall. Yep. Exactly like a horse.

Daily Photo:

This is the type of person who likes driving a Pontiac 6000.

So yesterday I established, with ample evidence, that phones make it hard for me to make words happen good. Here, as promised, is the second phone based excursion I took myself on yesterday. Please, pray on my discomfort. Voyeurs.

The Scenario: I wanted to test drive a car. I bought one in December from a little tiny baby private used car….place. It was a Corolla and I loved it a little bit more than a human should actually a love a piece of machinery. It’s now in Corolla Heaven, thanks to a desire for pancakes and a badly timed left turn, so I find myself in the market for a ride. Again. Recently, I drove by the place where I had bought the Corolla to see if they had any more deals and, lo and behold, there was a Toyota Tercel for under 2 grand! So. It was time for me to schedule a test drive.

When no one picked up, I was transferred to voicemail. Perfect! A golden opportunity to make up for my less than suave phone based excursion earlier. However, my brain sensed danger from the get-go and bailed before “Leave a message.”

The phone call (Note: Italics indicate internal monologue):
Hey, JR, it’s Amie. (Oh, very smooth!) I spoke to you, erm, sometime around the beginning of this month about, um, needing a new car? Whereas my Corolla was in an accident? (Okay, less smooth, but… still coherent! Keep up the good work!) So I, uh, noticed the Tercel you’ve got for sale, and I was wondering if maybe I could come by tomorrow and test drive it? (Right, because his voicemail is going to say, “Oh yes, that would be lovely, and afterward you can stay for tea!”) I’ve got to work in until mid-afternoon, so I can come over some time betweeeeeeeeen……. (Think faster, think faster!) 3:30 and 4. If that’s okay. So. If you could give me a call whenever you get a chance, that would be really great, thank you! (*Realizing the man doesn’t have me on speed dial…*) My number is [wouldn't you like to know]. Okay! Thank you! (Stop talking. Now. Hang up immediately.)

I snapped the phone shut before I could do any further damage, found my brain which was in the kitchen, snacking on some cheese and crackers, and shoved it back into my head. That wasn’t so bad, I thought. In fact, I’d say it was pretty good! Maybe I should see about getting my job back at the Mercedes place.

…

Or not.

Daily Photo:

My brother’s car, which I’ve been driving since my accident. You can see why the situation is dire.