Monday, October 04, 2004
Hubcaps!
So my '95 Neon is no more. Well, it still exists, I guess, but it does so without me, because I have traded it in for a 2003 Corolla, which has the advantages of working air conditioning, a radio that receievs stations other than the mariachi channel, and a full set of hubcaps, at least until those punk kids in my neighborhood go to work again. My drive back to the city was so dry and non-silent it was amazing. I never knew how much I needed to hear the latest from Avril Lavigne until my vehicle denied me that opportunity.
The Neon and I have had, to say the least, a tumultuous relationship. Only a few months after getting the Neon, it enticed me into seeing if it could really go 120 mph like the odometer said, resulting in a very expensive speeding ticket and a highly unnecessary body cavity search. (The answer, by the way? Yes, but not without vehicular shaking intense enough to cause damage to some rather prized internal organs.) The Neon and I got into more trouble when Kathy Yu convinced us we should try to drive over a grass embankment in the high school parking lot, which led to an exceedingly stern and spittle-filled lecture from a twitchy lot attendant who fortunately could not spell my last name to turn me in to the authorities. But the Neon and I have had good times, too, like our crazy road trip to Bloomington/Normal and all the times we used to skip third period study hall to go to Dixie Creme Donuts. It's impossible to sum up what these eleven years together have meant.
But if there's one thing I believe in life, it's that once a vehicle leaves you stranded in Andersonville, it's time for a change. The Corolla and I are getting along famously already. And if it decides it doesn't want to go for donuts, well, I guess I can learn to love bagels instead . . .
So my '95 Neon is no more. Well, it still exists, I guess, but it does so without me, because I have traded it in for a 2003 Corolla, which has the advantages of working air conditioning, a radio that receievs stations other than the mariachi channel, and a full set of hubcaps, at least until those punk kids in my neighborhood go to work again. My drive back to the city was so dry and non-silent it was amazing. I never knew how much I needed to hear the latest from Avril Lavigne until my vehicle denied me that opportunity.
The Neon and I have had, to say the least, a tumultuous relationship. Only a few months after getting the Neon, it enticed me into seeing if it could really go 120 mph like the odometer said, resulting in a very expensive speeding ticket and a highly unnecessary body cavity search. (The answer, by the way? Yes, but not without vehicular shaking intense enough to cause damage to some rather prized internal organs.) The Neon and I got into more trouble when Kathy Yu convinced us we should try to drive over a grass embankment in the high school parking lot, which led to an exceedingly stern and spittle-filled lecture from a twitchy lot attendant who fortunately could not spell my last name to turn me in to the authorities. But the Neon and I have had good times, too, like our crazy road trip to Bloomington/Normal and all the times we used to skip third period study hall to go to Dixie Creme Donuts. It's impossible to sum up what these eleven years together have meant.
But if there's one thing I believe in life, it's that once a vehicle leaves you stranded in Andersonville, it's time for a change. The Corolla and I are getting along famously already. And if it decides it doesn't want to go for donuts, well, I guess I can learn to love bagels instead . . .
