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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Car Wars III or "Not Another Old Car Story!"

We're beginning to think our car problems may not be limited to the concept of age, wear and tear. There may be a bit of bad luck involved.

Our dead Nissan was revived for approximately six months before it keeled over, again. This left us with three cars, which is a pretty good deal when you have three drivers ... unless something goes wrong.

We had just managed to get the Mazda's CV joint repaired when the Honda began to show signs of the same problem. As it got worse, the car began to creak at every turn and I commenced husband-pestering in the hopes of getting the Honda repaired, as well.

"It's embarrassing," I told him. "I pass John the Security Guard at the school and wave to him while my car's going creak, creak, creak around the corner. I've actually seen him cringe as I pass by."

"We'll get it fixed soon," David said. "After we pay for the termite treatment." He was referring to the expensive poisoning job we had to have after our home was partially flooded and David subsequently bumped a bed frame into the window sash while moving furniture out of a flooded room, promptly caving in the rotted wood and exposing the nasty critters. That's a story in and of itself, but there was a bit of irony in the fact that I wrote a column on having a sense of humor about insects just prior to the discovery that a whole tribe of them were chewing on the walls of our home.

The gist of the matter was that we'd been walloped with some unexpected major expenses and the car repairs had to wait. I exercised admirable patience, I thought, until the day David walked in and announced that he was going to get the van's CV joint repaired.

"Why?" I asked. "What about my Honda?"

"It's my Honda," our 11-year-old interjected as he walked through the room. I should have told him that in that case, he could pay for the repair.

David waited till Will exited the room to respond. "I don't think the van's repair is going to be as extensive, so I want to get it taken care of first."

I growled a little and dropped the subject. A few days later, the Honda refused to start up while I was sitting in the pick-up line at school. I called my husband and he made a few suggestions which the car apparently overheard, thereby encouraging it to grudgingly crank up on the ninth attempt. I hoped the refusal to start was a fluke.

The following day, I slid into the Honda, cranked it up and observed that the speedometer stayed firmly locked at zero regardless of the car's speed. The van was in the shop, by then. I pointed out the dead speedometer when I picked David up for lunch.

He sighed. "You've got to be kidding."

"I kid you not," I said. "Remember the Monza? It's funny that a car that had a horrible reputation was such a great car and this one's such a disaster. At least in the Monza, the speedometer would leap back on when I went through a speed trap. I always appreciated that."

He didn't laugh.

Two days later, I drove to a friend's house to pick her up for a walk in the park. When we returned to the car, it refused to start, again. So, the following day, I insisted that my husband and I trade vehicles. I'd had enough of the car dying on me and the van was supposedly back to working order. With a husband about to leave town on business, I needed the most reliable car available.

David drove to the airport in the Honda the next morning, while I hopped into the van with William to leave for school.

"Why doesn't this car have a rearview mirror?" Will asked as we headed up the street.

I looked up at the windshield. Sure enough, the rearview mirror had disappeared. It wasn't lying on the dash and we were already in motion, so I was unable to search for the missing mirror.

"Well, it's supposed to have one," I told him. "Look around the floor and see if you can find it."

"Yep," Will said, picking up the mirror. The entire mirror unit had fallen off, leaving behind a clear adhesive patch without any adhesive. Ye gads.

I later jury-rigged a temporary sling for the mirror, attaching it to the visors with some rubber bands. I had to reach up and toggle the mirror into viewing position to check my back view—so it wasn't exactly something McGyver would come up with—but the temporary sling was better than totally doing without a rearview mirror or alternately holding the displaced mirror in my lap and lifting it every time I needed to catch a glimpse of my back side.

When David called from Michigan, I told him about the mirror. He sighed loudly. I could tell even David was thinking he wouldn't be able to get away with not buying a new car, much longer.

"Nan," he said with a particularly weary tone, "could you do me a favor?"

"Like what?"

"Could you stop driving my cars? I think," he told me, "you're just bad luck."

That may be true, I thought to myself. But I'm willing to test that theory on a new car.