10.16.2001 - 4:24 p.m.

This entry will be my ode to my car, tragically struck down in the prime of life.

Okay so actually it wasn't struck down, exactly, and it was sort of maybe my fault. Shut up.

The story starts on Friday evening. I was just leaving work, about to leave for a dinner get-together with some friends. I got into the car, piled my stuff in the passenger seat, and turned the key.

"VROOM rattle clink," my car said, and then proceeded to do nothing. I tried again, turning the key a little more assertively, holding it forward a little longer.

"VROOOOOM clink clink clink," it said this time, with the same result.

So I decided to have dinner on campus, with some other friends.

Afterwards, we all walked back to my recalcitrant mode of transportation and took turns trying to convince it to take me home.

VROOM rattle clink.

VROOOOOM clink.

VROOM rattle chugga clink.

VROoo*

We gave up when I noticed that it smelled fairly unpleasant, like something was either burning or very, very hot.

It was after hours at the towing place, ($80) so I left it in the parking lot for the weekend. Got it towed yesterday. ($30)

I've never been towed before. It was kind of sad, helping the tow guy line up the wheels, watching him winch them tight onto the lever, and following my poor dead car to the garage. It felt like the end of a war movie, where the gruff, soft-hearted old soldier finally dies and they take him away on the stretcher while the young hero looks on in disbelief.

Today I called the shop and they still don't know exactly why it wouldn't start, although they have an idea...

This is where the blame part comes in. Apparently, if you open the hood and watch while someone else tries to turn it on (Vroom clink clink clink...) you get a really pretty spark show. Apparently each "clink" is the sound of an arc of electricity going somewhere it really shouldn't go. Apparently the whole reason I'm carless at this very moment is because at some point during the winter trip to Indiana, spring break in the Appalachians, senior week in the Outer Banks, the countless shuttle trips between school and my parent's home, and all the other little ten minute home-to-work-to-town trips in the last twelve thousand miles, I shoulda had a tune-up.

Imagine that.

-stonebridge

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