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Discussion in 'SHH Community Forum' started by Herr Logan, Apr 26, 2005.
This is the perfect moment for Nelson from the Simpsons to walk in.
No, I was just teasing since we're both pedestrians again.
I'm gonna sit in the elderly section, just outta spite.
Well I know how yer girl is Logan and ya know I'm game once ya get back in the driver's seat. (tell ya girl I said hey)
How the hell ya been man?, where ya been?, hiding in the woods of Canada again Glad t' see ya back.
I have the same problem when it comes to parking, which is why I always park my truck towards the back of most parking lots.
I don't think I'll be telling my girl anything about this exchange whatsoever, you dirty, dirty girl...
I've been depressed and anxious, as usual, and more so than usual once I knew I was no longer self-reliant with regard to efficient travelling.
How the hell you been?
By the way, I've been here on the Hype consistently for a good while now, mainly monitoring and adding to my brainstorming threads, which I spread out into various forums recently. I haven't spoken up much in the Community forums for a while, but I've been here.
I've been relatively successful with parking in that I haven't caused any damage in the process thereof. It's still intimidating as hell, though.
In order to decrease the chance of mishaps, I always try (tried, rather... *sniffle*) to park my car in the "getaway" postion; you know, front facing out of the space. I only did that by moving forward into a space through an empty space on the opposite side, as I was never confident about backing into anything.
Okay, boys and girls, it's time for Herr Logan's long-winded, superfluous story time!
Here's what I've done to my car side I've had it:
I ran into another car at an angle on a very busy and crowded street. This was while I only had a learner's permit and was still practicing my requisite number of supervised driving (and, yeah, I did the full 40 not to keep The Man happy, but because I really did need it, and more, even). It was a significant dent on the front/right corner for me and little more than a scratch on the rear/left corner for the lady I hit. My dad paid her off to avoid a legal hassle and so the insurance rate wouldn't change.
Sometime in the past year or so, I drove my car out of my previous apartment complex, not knowing that some bottom-feeding smegmalith had stolen one of my hubcaps and that my tire had gone flat until already went out on the street and down a very steep hill. I pulled into a nearby parking lot to take a look at the the wheel. Did I call my father, who probably knows best what to do (since he's a lot older, paying for the insurance and AAA, and had that car for 13 years already)? No. Or maybe yes and he didn't answer and I didn't leave a message... I don't rememeber. My parents are scary, volatile people(I mean, look at what he produced! Go on, check my earliest posts... that's the product of living with crazy people for 20 years), and I try to avoid confrontations and recriminations any way I can (if they push me into a corner, metaphorically speaking, it gets pretty scary for everyone involved), and that's why I let so many things go unchecked. Anyway, I called my girlfriend and told her I was in a parking lot not too far from the building and my tire was flat. She said I could probably make it back to a safe spot in front of our building even with the flat. So I tried to go back up that steep hill, with a flat tire and no hubcap. When the car stalled about halfway up, on account of the tire being worthless, I gunned the engine. Lo and behold, a huge cloud of burned rubber vapor arose from the front/right corner. The smell was ungodly. I knew I was screwed, but did I stop, put the emergency brake and hazard lights on and call my dad again? No, I kept gunning it until I went up the hill, unsteady and with a different noise than the flat tire made. As I pulled into the parking lot, a woman was pulling out, and she had a look of horror and incredulity on her face as she stared at me. Right behind her was the Good Humor ice cream truck, the driver of which had the exact same look on his face. I pulled into a space and got out to curvey the damage. Sure enough, the tire was gone, and the rim, though not horrendously misshapen, was not quite a smooth circle. It needed to be replaced, I needed a new tire, and I needed a reallignment. Also new brake pads, but I don't think that was my fault; it's an old car and it was just due for new brakes.
With due credit to my girlfriend (who is very, very smart), she thought I had said I was in the parking lot in front of our building, and she had meant that I could just put it back in one of the spaces. Stupid God damn cell phone!
Some weeks later, I scratched the paint on the doors while trying to maneuver around a gas station.
A few months ago, I ran over one of those cement bars they use to divide conjoined rows of parking spaces in my assignment campus parking lot, trying to park "getaway" style. It was nearabout the ass crack of dawn, and the sun's cruel light was being diffused through my dirty windshield, and I honestly just didn't see that there was a a curb-bar-thingy. I don't remember exactly how far I'd gone over the bar, which may or may not have damaged something already (this was the first of several run-ins between the underside of my car and concrete), but I went ahead and backed my front wheels back over it again, which, again, may or may not have damaged something.
Later that same week, or possibly just a minute or two after the last incident, or possibly even before the last incident (I've got serious problems with my memory), I ran into a curb peninsula in the same parking lot, again because the sun was in my eyes. That time I know it damaged the car. This black piece of rubber or plastic came off. I mentioned this to my shrink, my girlfriend, and my friend who taught me how to drive over the course of 40 hours about this. Didn't say a word to my parents, didn't seek real help. I think this is called an "axel boot," because that's one thing that needs to be fixed according to the mechanics who diagnosed this poor bastard of a car.
A couple months later, I ran over the rounded corner of a curb trying to get out of yet another parking lot that was near my university. The front wheels went all the way up and over it. This was not just a little bitty bar-- my car was actually straddling a big chunk of curb, and that's only if my rear wheels didn't get up on the curb as well, which I can't remember. What did I do? I backed up over it again. Bang... bang! I honestly couldn't tell if the allignment was messed up again or not, because heightened anxiety makes me feels things at different intensities. I called my parents that night and told them. My dad asked if the thing drove okay at a fast speed. I took the Beltway home at 60 mph, so that's a big yes. Okay, not so worried anymore. Get it checked out when you can, he says.
Months later, I'm way overdue for an oil change, I still haven't had any professionals look at my car, and it sounds like a racing vehicle. I know I didn't supe up that engine. My dad says it's the muffler, and that's not a big deal, but for God's sake, get a friggin' oil change!
About a month or so ago, I take this undead car to a nearby service center. They claimed it needed a complete new exhaust system (not just the muffler), some axel boots, and a new transmission, for a total of $3000, which is twice what the car is worth. They said the transmission was shot and the car wouldn't go over 40 mph. I know that's not true, since I drove it that fast for a little bit on the way to and from the service station. My father was right; that guy was a lying sum'***** about something, at least, and I no longer feel sorry for him that my dad ripped him a new one over the phone. He's good at that. We needed a second opinion.
About a week ago, I took the car to a place where my girlfriend's family always goes and trusts.
I had them check the whole front end, the exhaust system, the alignment and the transmission, and here's the description on the inspection bill:
Lube Oil & Filter, do the chk over 1st
Major Service, good look over reccomend service. The belts need replaced, the front struts and tops need replaced. The front flex pipe needs replaced. Sll of the fluids need changed. The left rack boot needs replaced. The front and rear lens need replaced. The right outer c/v boot needs replaced. Needs aligned. The wiper blades need replaced.
There isn't a God damn thing wrong with the transmission (other than the fact that it would likely give out before a brand new one would), but it's still a lost cause, since the cost would be $2700. My dad says it needs a new "engine mount," or the engine could fall right out of the car, so it's not safe to use, even if it does drive okay (aside from the noise).
I know none of you care about any of that. For some reason, I can't sleep, so I figured I'd try to bore myself to sleep with stupid, car-related anecdotes. Thanks for reading. God bless us, everyone, and to hell with those God damn, heartless, evil, heathen CURBS!!