Well, I am home for Christmas break... and so is my car. She's parked in front of my house, sitting peacefully. I drove her here from the mechanic's, and I'm taking her out tomorrow for a lengthy spin. My school refund check is going to be paying for her repairs...
Now the only problems are:
a) the two front struts need replaced
b) my car now makes a weird "click click click" when I go around turns (presumably due to having it towed).
Oh, Merry Christmas, by the way.
My car was ready for me. I went to the car dealership to pick her up, and I got to drive her home. My sister was nervous about me driving home, because I never really got to drive a whole lot. Her fears were unnecessary, however, as I made it home with nary an incident. I brought CDs with me, so I could remember what music I was listening to on that momentous first ride in my very first car. I chose Squirrel Nut Zippers' Hot CD, and it kept my spirit light and my driving calm. Finally, my car was parked in front of my house.
My brother, always the doubting Thomas, was nervous about my car. He asked me to send him pictures. I took four or five photos of my new car, sized them and shipped them through AIM while he was at work, and he seemed to be accepting. There were hardly any scratches on the paint, no stains on the interior, and the car had been driven by a non-smoker. The only major damage was to the right passenger side window crank. Apparently someone had a little kick-me dog who chewed up the handle a tad. But I didn't care. She was my car, doggonit, and I loved her with all of her flaws.
The first problems to arise were minor. The car was short one low-beam light, and had a dead battery (common problem when cars sit on a car lot for a long time). My dad replaced them for me, since I was totally broke after purchasing the car. With the new battery, she ran beautifully. My nephew Daniel (15) was the first to get a ride in the car. He was so excited. I got to show her off, drive around, and actually go places!
My brother's paranoia was probably warranted, however. His biggest fear was the timing belt--something that keeps the pistons moving with the proper frequency (or something like that). Well, for some reason, the car was having some trouble starting after a little while. My brother told me to get it to a mechanic quickly and get the timing belt replaced. My dad sent the car to his mechanic, the one he's used for many years, and had him replace the timing belt and had him check it over.
So the next investment was a new timing belt and pully system, new spark plugs and plug wires. My excellent deal became merely a great deal. It sat at the mechanic's for two or three days, and then it came back to me.
After the car came back from the mechanic, it still had some trouble starting. The engine wouldn't turn over until the third or fourth attempt. I foolishly ignored this problem, for a number of reasons, mostly the fact that I didn't want my parents to sink any more money into my car. It did eventually start, so that was all that mattered to me.
The day I left for school for the fall, I was going to see a show in Latrobe on Saturday night (The Strangers, jazz/funk fusion band), spend the night in Pittsburgh with my cousin, and she would drive me to Seton Hill on Sunday. My car was all packed up; I hugged my parents and said goodbye. I had a cell phone in case of emergency, so they weren't worried. I left home, excited at the prospect of driving the whole way to school all by myself. It was my first time on an interstate, and I was only slightly concerned. I was excited.
About a third of the way there, I started having car trouble. The car wouldn't shift from 4th to 5th gear. If I stayed around 70 I had no problems, because the car could just stay in 5th. Driving on the interstate, however, does not always permit 70 mph--especially for someone who's never driven on the interstate before. The hills were driving the engine crazy.
Suddenly, the car rapidly decelerated from 65 to 45. I was nervous, but not too afraid. I was more worried about my car and the other drivers than anything else. I pulled over on the side of the road, and smoke poured from my engine. I had to call my dad.
My parents came to pick me up, loaded my school things into my mom's car, and they called to have Rosalee towed. In their benevolence, they drove me to Latrobe instead of home (since we were already a third of the way there), where I met up with Jenn and got to see the show anyway.
My car went to the doctor, and the prognosis was dismal. The engine had been leaking antifreeze, overheated, and died. Recessutation was impossible. The car would simply need an entirely new engine.
There were only three conceivable reasons why there was no antifreeze in the engine.
1) The car had always been leaking antifreeze. The car had sat at the mechanic's shop for two days, and he didn't notice the leak.
2) The mechanic drained the antifreeze to change the timing belt and didn't refill it
3) The engine died for some reason (maybe because the timing belt was put on wrong) and the antifreeze leaked out due to the engine failure.
So, most signs pointed to the mechanic. He insisted, however, that he had done nothing wrong, and was completely confident in his skills. My parents, however, were less than assured. They took my car to a new mechanic, who agreed to replace the engine, putting on the other engine's timing belt, pulleys, spark plugs, and plug wires.
Just yesterday, when I called home, I got good news. My car was on the road to recovery! The replacement engine was in, and the car would be repaired, probably by the time I hit home for Christmas. My great deal is now just an okay deal, and I cost my parents more money than I ever wanted. I'm still kind of upset about it, but more from the financial and irresponsible aspects than anything else. The would-haves should-haves could-haves are all I can think about some times.
But the story ends on a happy note that hopefully isn't temporary. I hope that this car, my Rosalee, will last me for a long time...now that she's gotten her temper tantrums over with. I still love my car, and I already told her, as she sat in front of my house, non-running with a busted engine, "It wasn't your fault."