Cars hate me.
1986 Chevy Z24. Blown engine at 60,000 miles. Cool car. Money pit. I got so fed up with that car that I let the bank take it back, then stupidly took it back from the back, allowing that car to torture me for many more years. The Z24 may be the reason why I learned to appreciate bicycles so much. If cars were people, the Z24 would be my Newman. Helllooooo, NEW-man. That car loathed me.
2004 PT Cruiser. Too many ailments to name. That car was hell on wheels.. and the wheels actually fell off of that car. Not only did that car hate me, it laughed maniacally every time I had to jump start the PT in cold weather.. which was often. If I knew which junk yard the PT Cruiser ended up in, I would go spit on its grave.
1982 Dodge Omni. Bad flywheel. Took five minutes for the starter drive to find a good bite to start that car. I never really wanted that car, bought a motorcycle soon after I bought the Omni, so it never really got a chance to know me well enough to hate me.
1992 Honda Civic. Completely blew up on the way back from vacation out in the middle of nowhere. My wife’s gynecologist appeared out of nowhere and rescued us by taking our stuff, kids, and Miriam home while I found a way to get the car home. I hated that car simply because it was a Honda Civic. It hated me back.
1987 Ford Aerostar. Transmission. Managed to coax the Aerostar creaking and groaning to work, called Victory Auto Wreckers, put $25 in my pocket. To be fair, I bought the Ford for $1000 when it had 120,000 miles on it, simply because I had already pedaled my bicycle through one entire winter and wanted warm transportation for the upcoming winter. The Ford was a cranky old man that hated everybody for no reason at all.
1972 Plymouth Duster. Seized engine. That car had reason to hate me. It took a lot of abuse since it was my first car. It also lasted the longest of any car I have had without failure — four years. After replacing the engine, the Ruster became a hand me down for both of my brothers, giving several more years of good service. That car was incapable of hate.
2004 Nissan Quest. Bought new. Once the warranty waned, that vehicle nickel and dimed me until it was traded this past March. The engine whined and knocked constantly due to a timing chain problem. That started at 40,000 miles. We drove it over 160,000 miles as far as we know — the digital odometer failed at 80,000 miles. I took careful care of that car, but it just refused to go more than a few months at a time without requiring repairs. The Nissan resented me like a teenage boy.
2010 VW Golf TDI turbo diesel with six speed manual, bought February 2014. Towed to the mechanic today. Probably a ruined clutch. After paying my daughter’s Fall college tuition last Friday, I have about a $1000 left in the bank. Looks like I will be saying good bye to that money. This car should not hate me. I have babied it. The VW has seen every expensive maintenance service, has enjoyed fresh synthetic oil every 3000 miles, got brand new tires last May, barely sees a speck of dirt. Why does it resent me?
Some day I will find a car that loves me, treats me right. I just know it.