Monday, 28 October 2013

This car is a better judge of character than me.

The First and only car I have ever had, is this 1996 Toyota Celica.
It's nicknamed the Sex Mobile. Ironically, of course, since there has never been (and is zero room for) sexy times in it. It is also psychic and was used to 100% accuracy to judge the character of the person in the passenger seat.

I bring up the sex-mobile because five years (!?) after this picture was taken, It's not as cute as it once was. It's taken a massive beating over the last few years. Has probably got an extra 150 000kms on it since I first drove it, has dents and rust and salt damaged paint...and it might be time to replace it.

It's got way more sentimental value than anything else I own. It was my dad's car before it was mine. He taught me to drive in it, and gave to to me to practice in when he wasn't around. When he passed away, I inherited it, and it's come with me everywhere I've gone since. I love this little rust bucket. 

It needs new shock absorbers, and the engine will need replacing soon. I should have replaced the battery like a month ago because it threatens not to start anymore. It's looks especially sad next to Richard's very pretty and lovingly cared for Rover. The mechanic says it barely passed rego this year (and only because he was nice to Richard) and most likely wont pass next inspection, so I've been reluctantly looking at little city-friendly Peugeots and Citroens and Jazzes and stuff.

Is it wrong to have attachment issues with a car? Is it ok if the car has been with me longer than any of my relationships? Also, did I mention the car is psychic and has predicted with 100% accuracy thus far whether the boy I was dating at the time was an asshole or not, but suddenly and inexplicably breaking down, setting off it's own alarm or refusing to start if said boy was in the car. The times it broke down, it weirdly worked fine ten minutes later when the guy had gone on his way.

Once when I was dating this uber jerk, he'd just decided his broke (non-car owning) ass was going to 'borrow' my car, drive it an hour and a half each way to work without even offering to fill up the tank, and ignored me when I protested that maybe I'd uh, want to use my own damn car sometime in the next 12 hours, and since I was paying for said car and he wasn't he could go get on a damn train. Anyway, Douchey McDouchbag ignored my wishes and took my keys out to go take my car. Instead of using the remote key, he tried to unlock it at the door. What he didn't realize was that the remote key was also an imobilizer and stopped the alarm going off. So he set the alarm off and NOTHING would work to turn it off - not relocking and properly unlocking the car, not starting the car, and amazingly, not even the disarm button my dad had shown me. Douchey was running late at this point, so he took off to jump the next train, and I went inside to find the NRMA roadside number to get it fixed so my neighbours could get back to sleep. I came back out, got a text from Douchey to say he was on a train and on his way. As I was dialling the NRMA number, I casually pressed the disarm button again and...the alarm stopped. I got out and locked the car, unlocked it again and started the ignition - no problems. It was like the car threw the tantrum I wasn't strong enough for, just long enough to get rid of him, and then went back to normal.
The car did all kinds of weirdness like this the first few years I owned it. Now it doesn't seem to need to look out for me as much. Maybe because the boyfriend now is a far cry from the douchery from before, or maybe it's because I don't need defending anymore, I've got a much lower tolerance for bullshit, and a much louder voice.

Either way, I just can't see a Jazz having my back like that, and that makes me sad.

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