Man, I hate my car. It’s like a daily reminder of how poor I am…the battle scars, the antenna that doesn’t quite go up all the way, the loud clanking noise when I shift gears…not exactly endearing. Yeah, five years ago it was a decent, reliable set of wheels. Eight years ago, when I got it (eek), it was practically as good as new. Leather seats, a moon roof, power everything… in college I almost looked like a baller. Yeah, that’s right…I’ve had the same car for eight years. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, eh? If it is broke…then don’t fix it either, because now it’s no longer worth the money.
What can I do? Given my current financial situation, nothing really. I can passively loathe the situation and feel a twinge of deep embarrassment every time I am forced to valet. I can also choose to embrace the positives, so here goes:
When you have a piece of shit car, you don’t worry about anything. Someone hits me? Awesome. Please total this junker, I’m begging you. I could really use the insurance money. It gets scratched? Aw man, that’s hilarious. Trust me, I won’t even notice. I think more of the surface area is damaged than not at this point. There’s nothing to steal, so I’m not worried about break-ins. You want my CD/cassette player? Good luck selling it. My speakers are all busted and buzzing, bass blockers be damned. I have nothing of value, so do not even bother. If someone hits me with a car door or backs into me in a parking lot, no sweat! Go for it! Do it again, get some aggression out. Can’t tell anyways.
I used to keep my car really neat and clean and shiny, inside and out. I still maintain, but am I freaking out over some dust on the dashboard? Hell no. Hard to tell if the floor mats are vacuumed when they are that stained. If I spill a drink, drop some food, eh… I get over it pretty quickly. When your shit isn’t nice, you don’t freak out about small things that happen to it.
But I digress. Bottom line: As crappy as it may be, at least I have a semi-reliable mode of transportation. I also have nothing to stress over. The worst thing that could happen – which unfortunately gets more possible by the day – is that the whole thing will fall apart and I will end up Fred Flinstone-ing it on a frame and some wheels. And hey, I’m in California. I’ll survive it. If nothing else, I can go ultra-hipster and get a bike, and have my workout while I’m at it. Maybe I can even buy some cheap fake horn-rimmed glasses to go with…
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