My car has a case of pixies. Found this out Saturday afternoon as it clicked ominously, spluttered and died on the freeway, got towed to the shop, and then closed up any and all coolant/oil leaks before the mechanic could find ’em.
D’oh! At least I didn’t melt the engine block. All’s well that ends well, minus $125 and some time spent getting all excited about nebulous diesel Volkswagen Rabbits that would one day run on french fry grease.
Two days thinking the car was ready for the junkyard made me realize a very important and basic fact: I love shitty cars. I love the feeling of continually overcoming adversity while driving, the selfish glow that comes from knowing no one else will ever understand my car’s little quirks, and the constant search for replacement parts rusting on the side of the road. I love hurling freeway invective from the underdog’s perspective and winning endless games of one-downsmanship. And of course I love not having to pay for comprehensive or collision insurance.
By all accounts an ’81 Rabbit would be a very shitty car, certainly shittier than is practical given my lack of interest in the dirty work of repairing and maintaining automobiles. But I want one! Owning one would make me hard core and awesome! Kind of like how smoking makes you cool but is also way more expensive and less fun than you realize when you start.
Update 30/4: Hmm. Got home tonight after a particularly lousy run of stop’n’go traffic, and turned off the engine only to hear a nasty hiss. Opened the hood and out came clouds of steam, emanating from a point just behind the engine block and somewhere below the plastic circle throttly-thing that blocks the view into the rest of the car. Do any of you fine readers know things about stuff?