02.05.2002 - I Just Don't Know What To Do

Last night, I took a drive out to the lovely Del Taco in the hopes that it would inspire me to think of a brilliant idea for a column. Although the food didn't help much, the drive out there gave me plenty of fodder. As I drove, I noticed the interior lights in my car growing dimmer, nearly going out by the time I got back home. There's obviously still something wrong with my charging system. Pardon my French, but I'm really fucking tired of car problems.

I'd bet you didn't know "fucking" is a French word. You learn something new every day.

After I got ready for work this morning, I clutched my keys tightly and hoped with all my being that my car would start this morning. I stroked my baby, kissed it and turned the key. After a brief struggle, it started and I drove to Woodland where I would try to find a shop more trustworthy than those in Davis.

From work, I called the shop directly across from my parking lot. The service manager there said they couldn't service my Mitsubishi, but directed me to another shop. On my lunch break, I did the same car starting ritual and thankfully it turned over once more. Once at the shop, I was greeted with friendliness and honesty rather than scheming and scare tactics. Maybe Woodland isn't so bad afterall.

I went in asking to get my alternator belt replaced. The mechanic actually showed me the wear on the other belts and suggested that I come back on Thursday when he can replace all three belts rather than replace the alternator belt today and charge me extra labor when I get the others done. I risked not being able to start my car and drove it back to work. Thankfully, I had no trouble getting there or home.

Aside from the car business, I actually worked today. I have an order that I'm trying to fill, and in my downtime on that, I'm doing work that I volunteered to do so I could help out another office. Even though I got a lot of work done, I still turned my column in on time. I actually felt like I was on top of my business for a while. It's nice.

Any satisfaction that I got from actually exerting effort was countered by anxiety about my car. I drove it home at five o'clock and decided not to drive it until I absolutely had to on Thursday morning.

Exiled at home for the evening, I quickly realized that I hadn't really slept for about a week. The bags under my eyes were fully packed and ready for a vacation to dreamland, but they were held up by a border patrolman named Car Related Anxiety. After three hours of being detained, I discovered what it would take to get us to our destination, and slipped the border guard some NyQuil. Apparently, we were speaking his language, because we got right through after that.

I will marry anyone in exchange for a new reliable automobile. Any takers?

-- Jeffy