Two doors, four wheels, freedom and a lot of headaches

I am getting a new car.

By new, I mean used. For the sake of argument it’s new,… I am getting a new car.

By new, I mean used. For the sake of argument it’s new, though, because it is a used car I have not owned before. Not only is it new, it is at least 100 times better than my old car and it’s a gift from my dad. By “gift,” he means, “something I am perfectly glad to give you now but starting tomorrow you will regret ever receiving, in the form of guilt trips every time you do something I don’t like, for the rest of your life.”

Still, being newer, nicer, and less costly to me than my old car puts this in the running for Pretty Much the Best Thing to Ever Happen to Me.

To be able to fully appreciate the awesomeness of this situation, one must know more about my current car. Imagine, if you will, it is the summer of ’01. Going into senior year and feeling “all grown-up,” I decided it was time I got myself a job. A job requires transportation, and because Greensburg does not have a classy bus system like the one we enjoy so much here in Oakland, that equals a car. Dad begrudgingly loaned me the $2,000, and I drove off the proud owner of a shiny black 1991 Chevy Cavalier. It came with two doors, four wheels and freedom; pretty much a 17-year-old’s dream.

Having my own car was amazing. I felt unstoppable … for the first two days. After that, things started going downhill, at 89 mph, to be exact. Let’s start by making it clear that this was all because of bad luck. By bad luck, I mean stupidity on my part.

I got my car on Monday, ran out of gas in the middle of the road Tuesday, got a speeding ticket for going 89 in a 65 zone Wednesday and got into what we’ll call a “minor” accident on my way to soccer practice Thursday. That week left me with $169.50 in fines and a severely dented passenger-side door. I didn’t even drive the car on Friday out of fear for what could possibly happen next.

As the weeks passed by, my driving got better, but certain once-functioning parts of the car got worse. I discovered that the horn didn’t work and the driver’s side speaker only worked when I drove over a bump in the road. The radio buttons were flaky at best. Button No. 1 didn’t work at all, but it was 96.1. If you are from the Western Pennsylvania area you will understand why I didn’t consider it much of a loss. Button No. 5 stopped working in warm weather. Resorting to the cassette payer was not an option as it ate the last tape I put in it – the Jackson Five, I’m still bitter.

Random pieces of the car’s interior just fell off, such as a part of the steering wheel that you press to operate the horn – can’t say I know what it’s called – and the cover to the armrest-thingy in between the front seats. I put them in the glove compartment for safekeeping.

Because I am way too poor to afford the optional collision insurance, the bashed-up door resulting from a badly judged left turn across traffic remains unrepaired. The door requires a hearty slam to remain shut while driving, and opening it is worthy of being an event in the World’s Strongest Man competition.

An unfortunate rear-end accident, this time not my fault, left a broken taillight that wasn’t worth fixing. Red tape passes inspection, right?

The new car is so nice by comparison. It is a Saturn SL-2. Not my first choice – I was pushing for a Mustang convertible, but I guess I’ll have to settle. The Saturn will bring with it a CD player, air conditioning, rear defrosters, and no dents.

Despite all of the fancy stuff my new car will have, I am really going to miss my Cavalier. We had a love-hate relationship. Every time I got past one problem a new one would arise, but like a best friend, it was always there for me. At the end of the day, I could say I made it to where I needed to go.

Though I’m sure the Saturn, and the rest of the cars I’ll own in my life, will be accompanied by many great memories, it will never be the same as my first car. Almost everything I ever said about my car was a complaint, but deep down I really love it and I know it can never be replaced. So with that, I bid my Cavalier a fond farewell.

Jen Giarrusso can be reached at jgiarrusso@pittnews.com.