My Car: A Bonding Experience
(Cover image by Natalie Hernandez)
(Photo by Brooklyn Mumford)
The Car
My old car was described as a lot of things: green, old, piece of junk, death trap, etc. but my favorite descriptor was “bonding experience.” See, my car was a core memory creator. When you sat down in my car you were welcomed with a scent you couldn’t quite place, cigarette stains, and a whole bunch of trinkets. Now, this is cool enough on its own, but the car had the added factor of constantly breaking down. Random lights would flash on the dashboard and that meant you had about one minute to prepare for a full shut down. Sometimes the lights never came and it was a surprise.
The car was a 2005 Ford Five Hundred. Ford only manufactured them from 2004-2007, so it was kind of an exclusive car. I was lucky enough to receive the car second-hand from a beloved family member. The completely automated windows and seats for both the driver and passenger were peak luxury. It also had a bunch of weird safety features too like a backup beep and a beep that would yell at you if you left the turn signal on for too long. However, despite all the safety features, this car was the furthest thing from safe.
Bonding Time
The bonding came when these breakdowns happened. Whenever I had a new passenger, I would give them a breakdown of what the ride would entail, much like an amusement ride operator: “hands and feet in the vehicle at all times, the car is old (if it were a person, it would be able to vote), so it makes noises. There is a loud clicking noise, but do not worry it’s just my Britney Spears Circus CD that's been stuck in my car for two years. Bumping is normal, it's not my car it’s the road,” etc. I always assured my passengers that it was safe. It was not always safe.
One time (of many), my car’s tire popped on the side of the road around 10pm when I had a carful of people. This was my first time meeting half of the people, so I had the pleasure of getting to know them extensively while we waited for the tow truck. Another time my engine stalled in the drive thru of a Jack-In-The-Box and I had to leave my car there overnight. I had many times where I said “give me a second I’m just going to pull over and check my tires” to my passenger.
Some of the problems weren’t my car’s fault though. I have had repairmen put my brake pads on backwards (don’t ask how) and put the wrong size O-ring on my car causing all my gas to spill out (RIP my 50 dollars). One auto shop told me the undercarriage of my car looked like a puzzle due to the amount of work it had done.
Why would I keep this car?
I named it. Never name inanimate objects because you WILL become attached. My car’s name was Maurice Green Beans because he was old and green. It had a level of iconicness. EVERYONE knew my car and a story about it. But the breakdowns became too much. Iconness is more of a euphemism for infamous, because soon no one wanted to ride in Green Beans. We had to let him go. When I finally retired my car in August of this year, I was met with backlash. I was shocked at the number of people mourning in my DMs and to my face. My friends and family were upset that they weren’t allowed a last goodbye with the car. My new car, named Coconut (I didn’t learn my lesson) has some big wheels to fill. Hopefully coconut will be famous for other reasons and will not be on a VIP list at Firestone Auto.
Everything I’ve learned about cars has been against my will. No one should have to know what a car O-ring is, know what happens when the mechanic puts your brake pads on backwards, or know what a car transmission does. Despite all of this, I will forever miss my first car Green Beans.
