Thursday, July 21, 2011

Emergency!

My first car was a 1996 Nissan Sentra that I got when I turned eighteen. I was absolutely delighted with this purchase because it meant freedom and independence and adulthood.

It would have been a decent car except I have a habit of being poor and not taking care of my stuff. So it went months without oil changes and tire rotations and other things you're supposed to have done to your car. I rode around with screeching brakes for a ridiculously long time because I was too poor and embarrassed to take it to the mechanic. I had my youth pastor fix the brakes (or change them, or whatever you do to brakes when they start sounding like death) and then another friend had to do the same thing a while later, but they kept on squealing at me and keeping me from getting attention from attractive boys that didn't involve some form of jeering.

I ignored it for the most part by turning the radio up really loud and singing along even louder. My friends really enjoyed this and always wanted to go places with me because I sound just like Alanis Morissette and Kesha and Taylor Swift all rolled into one.

I usually tend to date/befriend guys who are mechanically savvy, but my boyfriend at that point in time was only an expert at video games and ignoring me. So my access to free help was limited.

Interestingly, my predicament didn't affect the amount of time I spent driving. I drove to school (back when I was a good college kid), work, friends' houses, my boyfriend's house, church, and around aimlessly when I was bored. I figured it wasn't hurting anything other than my ears and self-esteem.

If I had just saved the money I spent on gas and food, I could've afforded to keep my car running. Too bad I was constantly bored and hungry.

So one afternoon I convinced my brother Thomas to go to a Mexican restaurant twenty miles away from our house to fulfill both my moods of boredom and hunger. He didn't want to go but I said I'd pay for his food and he couldn't resist that offer.

We got in the car to go eat and like always, he made fun of how messy my car was.

Thomas: Do you have any clothes left in your room, or are they all in your backseat?

Amanda: No, there are some in the trunk too. Watch where you put your feet, I have some movies and CDs in the floorboard.

Thomas: What's all this crap around your emergency brake? Straw wrappers, two keychains, a bottle of lotion, a Beach Boys CD, a pack of cards, and a copy of The Notebook? Seriously?

Amanda: What? I need all those things to be close by when I'm driving. I might need them.

Amanda: *Pointedly applies lotion from said bottle at a stoplight*

He shoved all my junk into the pocket on his door and I made a show of searching all over for my Beach Boys CD that he had moved.

I might have stooped to playing solitaire on my lap just to prove my point, but we arrived at the restaurant before it got that childish. Thoughts of nachos swimming in cheese were calling my name.

We stuffed our fat faces and talked about how awesome and funny we are.

Thomas: I'm the funniest one in our family and I draw masterpieces in the time it takes you to devour those nachos.

Amanda: I'm the most attractive and I go to church so I'm better than you.

Thomas: I have the greasiest hair.

Amanda: I have a job.

I got a to-go box to make myself feel thin even though I planned on eating it as soon as we got home. I generously paid for our meals and left a tip, and we left. We had nowhere else to go so we headed home through downtown.

My brakes were doing their usual shriek, as Thomas and I pretended to hear the sound coming from another car and judge them to divert attention from us. Everyone could tell by my sweaty red face and his long oily hair that we were too classy to be the culprit of the noise pollution.

Cruising down Main Street, trying to look cool, I saw a light turn yellow. I was a good citizen and acknowledged that yellow meant "slow down." At least, that was my intention.

My foot hit the brake, which screamed in protest and hit the floor way too fast, finally dying of exhaustion. In a wild panic I turned left at full speed (downtown full speed, which is only 25 MPH) so I could at least die on a small side road or parking lot without causing a six-car pileup on Main Street. I was quite considerate of others even in the face of a disaster.

We zoomed down some side road while Thomas turned to stare at me with enormous UFO eyes.

Thomas: What was that?

Amanda: *Uncharacteristically calmly* My brakes aren't working. At all. The pedal is all the way down against the floor right now.

Thomas: What do we do?

Amanda: *Mind is blank, preparing for death* Uh...

We got to a stop sign that met another busy road. We sailed through, directly between cars approaching in both lanes, and Thomas, realizing I wasn't going to do anything whatsoever, yanked up the emergency brake when we got to the other side, which was mercifully a parking lot. I gaped at him, then the emergency brake for a while as I realized I never would have even thought about using it or cleaning out the stuff that was previously stored around the brake. I wondered who the hell let me have a license, and why I was so incapable of things like saving my life.

I called our mom and told her our adventure. She wasn't very impressed and told me to call AAA to have my car towed. After I obeyed, I called Kacy to get a response and some sympathy for my horrible car. Best friends typically respond exactly the way mothers don't.

It wasn't worth fixing everything that was wrong with the stupid car so I bought a new one that I can't afford and gets low gas mileage. But it's pretty and white like me.

I don't keep things sitting around my emergency brake anymore. But I do sometimes pull it up when I park on a hill and forget to take it down until I've driven all the way back across town wondering what that horrible smell was.

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