Skip to main content

You really do need to add oil.

 I once owned a Ford Taurus.  A month or so after I left home, after constantly taking taxis and catching rides to and from work from friends, a bartender named Woody at the restaurant where I worked offered to sell me his car for the low low price of $500.  It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.  I was so excited to finally have my own car again, and I immediately bought a fuzzy black and white dice for the mirror and a steering wheel cover - classy stuff in 2001, I tell you.  


Having a car again was so nice, and even though it was old as dirt, the sunburnt paint was peeling off of her, and all of the dashboard lights randomly flashed on and off from time to time, it was great being able to have the freedom to get to and from places without having to ask someone.  After forking out a decent sum for insurance, I decided that this car would be a stopgap - that I wouldn’t spend a single penny on it, and that by the time it died, I’d have saved enough for a better, newer, cooler car.


And boy did I learn a lot with that Taurus.  The first lesson was that you can’t stick a bunch of refrigerator magnets to your car, drive on the highway, and expect said magnets to still be there by the time you’ve made your exit.  They might look really fun and cute when you first put them on, and your coworkers might enjoy leaving dirty messages on your car for you to read after your shift, but it’s just a waste of money, and after having their windshield repeatedly hit by cheap plastic letters when following you, fellow drivers on the highway will give you the finger as they pass you angrily.


The second lesson was that power-steering really IS useful.  Especially for a huge hunk of metal like a Ford.  I learned this the hard way while trying to drive through a McDonald’s and going over multiple curbs and destroying a few bushes while trying to navigate around the narrow curves of the drive-through lane.  I will say though, after about six months of driving without power-steering, I did have some really nice-looking arms.  


The third lesson was that, if you’re in the mood to feel really sorry for yourself, then you should definitely get yourself a cheap Ford Taurus with no power-steering and a broken driver’s side window.  One cold winter evening after a long shift at work, I remember feeling so cold inside my car (I don’t think the heating worked, or if it did, the open window definitely made it useless), and the huge coat, mittens, and hat did little to stem my shivering.  I can’t remember why now, but I remember feeling incredibly sad about life, and all of a sudden it started snowing.  The snowflakes started falling harder, and as I stopped at a red light they were coming in the window and hitting my left cheek.  I started to cry.  I was tired, frozen to the bone, and thoroughly felt as if nothing could make this situation worse. 


But of course it did get worse:  my car died.  


And that was the last lesson the Ford Taurus taught me.  You see, even though all the dash lights had been on for weeks, instead of their usual intermittent flashing on and off from time-to-time, and even though Woody mentioned to me when I first bought his car that it would need an oil change soon, I had gotten it so stuck in my mind that the only money I would put in this car was for gas that I didn’t think to top off the oil tank.  


And so, without any oil in her for far too long, that was that.  It turns out, you really do need to add oil from time to time.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Am I a runner now?

One day in July, when I was nine years old, my mother asked to take my measurements.  I asked her why - after all, she didn’t sew, and neither did anyone I knew.  She told me that my grandmother wanted to have an outfit made especially for me by a seamstress.  Being the dress-refusing, mud-adoring tomboy that I was, I instantly grimaced and protested, making it clearly known that I did NOT, under any circumstances, want a dress.  My mom allayed my fears by telling me my grandmother was going to have a jogging outfit made for me.  Now, I was not the cleverest child, because I instantly and unequivocally believed this.  I never questioned how ridiculous it might be to have jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt hand-made for a child of nine years old.   I had never run before outside of school, nor had I shown any interest in running.  And yet, once I was told I would have a jogging outfit, I became immediately enamored with the idea.  In my min...

The boy who swallowed a goldfish.

  No one I hung out with in highschool liked P.E. lessons.  Waiting in the hallway before the P.E. teachers arrived was agony - we never knew what activity we’d be doing and they always seemed to take ages to get there, extending the time we had to worry whether it would be dodgeball or track running or something equally awful.  We would all moan and discuss ways of getting out of class, although none of us were brave enough to dare try, of course.  In the segregated changing areas, and as a very late bloomer, I was the “get-undressed-as-quickly-as-you-can” type of girl, and oftentimes would be the first to be ready outside of the changing room awaiting the teacher. I had just finished stuffing my sports’ bra when I heard a commotion in the hallway - I quickly pulled on my tearaway tracksuit bottoms and hurried out the door to see what was going on. A group of about ten boys - mostly wrestlers and footballers (I religiously attended all wrestling practices because I ...