My dad is big on being a dad. By that I mean he's always there to give advice, requested or otherwise, smile as he shakes the hand of any potential male suitor as he informs them of how much he loves to use his shot gun, remind me to bring a jacket and be safe, and most of all, to take care of my car.
I like to think that I am a good daughter. I often tease my brothers that I am the favorite child. It's funny, because it's true. I listen to my fathers advice, encourage him to intimidate the guys, always have a jacket, and for the most part, try to be as safe as possible. My car, however, is another story. It's not that I intentionally disregard his "reminders," I just forget. If it's running fine, it means everything inside of it is fine, right?....Yea, I'm pretty sure that's how it works...
I got my license at 17 (I was terrified to drive and had no interest in it until that point) and was given a 1997 Saturn. No, my parents did not buy me said car. My dad had bought it for himself as a commuter car. It was then passed down to my brother who ran it almost to extinction, then lovingly gave it to me to drive until a piston valve shot through my engine block as I drove home from work one night. First, I heard it. Then, as I looked in my review mirror and watched the metal valve bounce in a desperate attempt to catch up to my car and retake it's rightful position in my engine, the thought occurred to me..
"Oh shit...did I change the oil like dad told me too?? Is that why this thing just exploded?!"
To clarify, that's not why it happened.
My second car was a 2006 Hyundai. Again, my father continuously told me to take care of it. You know, check the air pressure in the tires, check the oil, blah blah blah. On multiple occasions, I would come home to my father looking ever so proud and asking,
"So...?"
"So...what?" I would reply
"So did you notice I filled your windshield wiper fluid?" or something to that effect.
Other times I would come home to him looking at me over the top of his glasses, a look my family calls "the dad look," asking again
"So...?"
"So...what?"
"Did you take your car in?"
"Uh....not yet, but I will."
"You know, Em, I don't like to nag, but you need to take care of your car."
"I know, I know. I will..."
I have since gotten a 2008 Kia, and so far, I've been pretty good about her maintenance. Recently, however, she has been throwing tantrums. I think she's feeling neglected because she needs a bath, or maybe she's just acting out for attention. In any case, she refuses to start in the worst situations. For example, I went to the mall to kill a little time before meeting up with a friend. I came back out to my car. It was dark. There were monsters and creepers lurking everywhere. There was a cracked out Monk in a stairwell watching me as he lit up his pipe. I tried to start her.
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing.
I was heading to work, and needed to stop to get gas. I stopped at a pump, filled her up, hopped back in hoping I wouldn't be late. I tried to start her.
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing.
Today, I went to a college to try and sign up for classes. I parked my car, and went to get a parking permit. The machine only accepted cash. I also discovered that I was parked on the wrong side of the campus, and needed to move my car anyway. I walked back to my car to swing by an ATM and come back. I tried to start her.
Click. Click. Click.
"seriously, car, don't do this to me...."
Click. Click. Click.
She was laughing at me, I just knew it...
Click. Click. Click.
"ok...maybe if I just sit here and will her to start, she will"
For the past month or so, my dad has been lovingly reminding me, not nagging, reminding me to take my car in and see about getting it fixed.
Today, as I sat grumbling and listening to the ever continuous cackle of "Click. Click. Click." I made the call.
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