I would like to think that I am quick on my feet. I am a thinker. Some may even say innovative, but if they did, I may be afraid that natural selection might take them out one day. I am a very detail oriented person when it comes to my work. I use graphs and spreadsheets and ENJOY it. When it comes to my personal life, not so much. Some may call that being lazy. I just like to think that I wait until it becomes a problem. Why waste time worrying about what may happen?
This is not a new concept to me that I am not a real grown up. I have known for several years. It is not even something that bothers me. Don’t get me wrong, I pay my bills, file my taxes, I have almost an 800 credit score… I am an adult, legally. But, I am not a grown up.
Several years ago before I moved to New Orleans, I thought the best decision for me would be to get a new car. My car at the time was getting a bit old for my standards and I knew I had to drive 2k miles to get to my destination. It was a tough choice, but I decided to trade in my favorite car. That car was everything I had ever wanted. It was beefy and badass. It was fast for all 3 of those times I went above 70 mph. It was spacious. I had peed in the backseat into a cup on many of occasions with ease. Plenty of room back there. Most importantly, it had a backup sensor to let me know when my poor driving skills were going to make me take out a small child in a parking lot.
The week before I moved, I decided to go look at cars. Against my better judgement, I ended up getting a new mom-mobile mini SUV. I knew when I test drove it that I hated it. But, I didn’t want to keep looking for cars. Plus, I was hormonal. And, a bit boozy from my lunch at BJ’s. I knew after that test drive that I would need a little liquid encouragement to help me make this disaster of a choice. Might as well get some mom jeans and a little mom bob to go with my new mom car. It was ugly. It still is ugly. It looked like it would fall apart if I hit a curb too hard. It had hub caps. FUCKING HUBCAPS. I just fucking hated the car. But, I was trying to make good adult decisions and I couldn’t always be the owner of a badass car. We all have to grow up sometime. Fuck. That. Shit.
About two weeks later, I was settled in to my new house in New Orleans with my new, ugly car when I received a piece of mail that nobody wants to receive. In fact, I had never received one before this. It was a notice from the manufacturer letting me know there was a recall. My new toy car could explode at high rates of speed. Sounds like a fantastic way to die. So, I called the closest dealer. They informed me that I would have to leave my car for a week, they did not have a loaner car, and they did not offer a shuttle. So, naturally I did the most logical thing to me, which was ignore it. I felt relatively confident that I would not be one of the statistics that was going to explode on the freeway.
Then a year later, I received another recall notice. I assumed it was just a reminder that my new shitty car still needed to be fixed so I don’t blow up. No such luck. This notice was informing me that there was an entirely new issue. The rear door may fly open at any time. Again, I would rather take my chances than deal with that shit. I don’t have kids, so who really cares right?? It’s all nice and fun until a whole year later you are driving down the road and the door pops right open. I immediately assumed it was because I shut the door and there was some sort of debris from my back seat that got caught in the door. It does look like a homeless person lives back there, after all. Nope. It was fucking BROKEN. It would not shut at all. So, I watched a YouTube video on how to fix it myself. I am a smart girl. I watch YouTube videos for everything else I don’t know how to do. There is no way this was going to be difficult. Well, lets just say the door was broken beyond repair. Their little trick with a butter knife and jiggling the handle did not fucking work.
I knew the chances of me taking the car to the dealer and being carless during monsoon season in the south was slim to none. So, I recruited a friend to fix it. In the meantime, I drove around with a dog leash holding the door closed and some Duct Tape so the rain wouldn’t get in the car. I felt like this was a perfectly reasonable way to handle the situation. Some of you are probably wondering if I was embarrassed. The answer is, mostly no. I get more embarrassed about important things like pulling on a door that says push. Or waving to someone that isn’t waving to me. The car sensor dinged for weeks on end, driving everyone who had to ride with me to a state of fury. People were frightened that my car may get stolen. I, on the other hand, was not. That car looked about as reliable as a Mcdonald’s ice cream machine. Ain’t nobody got time for that. They would steal the neighbors 1985 Honda and have better luck making a clean get away. Moral of the story; don’t buy a car that looks like something you drew in Kindergarten when the teacher asked you to draw your family on a road trip over Summer break.