Driving a Beater Car

[Chris]

There are other advantages to driving a beater. Nobody ever wants to steal it, and if they did, they would have to know the solenoid trick. If by some chance someone did steal it, you could track it down by following the trail of oil, coolant, and miscellaneous parts that fell off the vehicle at random intervals. You don't mind patching it together with tin cans, baling twine, coat hanger wire, duct tape, and bubble-gum, because if you really fix it up nice, you won't have anything with which to run through the fields. Plus, if your car won't go over 60 miles per hour without shaking apart, you're not tempted to speed, saving money on tickets. Unfortunately, not everyone recognizes the wisdom of this, which was evident the first time I went to my girlfriend Kathy's parents' house to pick her up.

“Uh - that's your car?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Did something just fall off underneath?”

“Oh yeah - I see it. It's part of the exhaust system. I'll just throw it in the trunk and fix it later.”

“Why does it look like a dog food can?”

“Oh, er, that's just the way they make the new high-tech couplers. They're supposed to hold up better than the old fashioned kind.”

“Really. Why did it fall off, then?”

“Well, I guess the coat hanger... er, I mean the mounting bracket... must have rusted through.”

Kathy was obviously impressed with my mastery of mechanical science, since we are now celebrating 25 years of marriage, but her relationship with the Field Car was always a bit strained. I actually think the old girl (the car, not Kathy) was a bit jealous.

Not long after her first introduction to the Field Car, Kathy was riding in it with Tim and me. At least 3 of the 4 cylinders were firing most of the time, and we were chugging along just fine at about 45 mph. Kathy said, “why does the engine sound like it's "missing" so much?”

I cast a nervous glance at Tim. We had previously gotten the distinct impression that the Field Car was sensitive to things people said about it. I said, “Don't say that too loudly, I think the car can hear you.”

“Hear me!? Ridiculous. This car is nothing but a hunk of junk.”

Tim and I were both aghast. Kathy looked at us like we were nuts. Just then, the hood came unlatched and broke free of the hinges. It rose 2 feet into the air and seemed to levitate there for a moment, before being whisked away, over the roof of the car. It crashed down onto the road behind us, where it was promptly run over by a pickup truck. We stopped and jumped out of the car, and ran back to make sure the driver of the truck was OK. We were grateful the hood hadn't gone through his windshield. He was OK. In fact, he was downright apologetic for running over the hood. We couldn't resist saying “It's OK, just don't let it happen again!” Then we grabbed the hood, hustled it back to the car, and strapped it in place with our belts.

As we pulled back onto the road and drove on, Tim and I turned simultaneously to Kathy and started to open our mouths, but she beat us to the punch and said, “I'm sorry! I'll never say anything bad about the car again, I promise!” And she didn't. At least, not within earshot of the Maverick.

(more...)

I found this the other day while surfing BeaterReview.com... I'm glad I wasn't busy yesterday, because it had me laughing out loud at work (something I try to avoid when I'm pretending I'm working).

[RobJohnson]

Funny stuff.