My misspelling of Karma was intended. A couple of hours ago I picked my car up from the garage after a radiator leak and drove roughly 100 yards before it spasmed roughly and died in afternoon traffic. You're never so popular with your fellow humans as when you're broken down in the left turn lane. So I wait by the phone and wonder if this latest malfunction will be the one that's just not worth the cost for a 14 year old Cavalier convertible.
I've often wondered if my life-long bad luck with automobiles was a higher power's attempt to convince me to move to a city with great public transportation. There was the 1967 Ford Country Squire station wagon that caught fire and burned up in the parking lot of a Winn-Dixie one afternoon in 1998. I really can't complain about that car, since I bought it from a friend for one dollar and drove it almost 16 months. The 1979 VW Type 2 bus that blew up ONE DAY after the warranty on its rebuilt engine expired is a more common example of my experiences as a car owner.
Actually, one of the most enjoyable car-related events of my life was an afternoon with some friends, a sabre saw and a blowtorch cutting up my 1987 Cavalier (I've owned two) for scrap after it threw a rod and its timing chain shredded. One of the guys filmed everything and we thought about sending it to MTV as Gimp My Ride. The car's remains netted $87.00, which of course I spent on beer for my aforementioned friends. Ah, good times. Maybe I'll get to chop up this car too. There's always hope.
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