Nickel and Dime You To Death

When Beau and I returned from New Zealand, we stayed briefly at my mother's place in Milwaukee. She had been trying to sell one of her cars for awhile, a 1996 Honda Civic, without success. And we, having almost NO material possessions at the time, were happy to buy it off her. As I've told before, it was that diminutive car that we stuffed in what possessions we did have (along with Sabina the cat), and road tripped to our new home - Missoula.

I'd like to say it's a reliable car, but I'm afraid it may be, as my grandfather used to say, a "nickel and dime you to death" car. I've already regaled you with the tale of the one-working headlight (and my comic attempt to bang it "on" for the cop who pulled me over). Beau has since replaced the light, with only moderate difficulty.

Then, the muffler started to go. As in all these cases, it starts off as a purr and progresses slowly to a roar. For quite awhile I was mortified driving it around, though my only other option is what Beau drives -- the "Jesus car." Beau's UBER-religious mother (and step-father, not-so-religious) very generously let us borrow their Mercury Grand Marquis, which is basically a mini-station wagon. I can deal with the "Jesus loves me" cross dangling from the rearview mirror, but I admit to being squeamish about the "Eternity: Smoking or Non-Smoking?" sticker adorning the rear bumper. I can only imagine what my mother-in-law would think/say/do if she knew my own religious (non-)beliefs.

So, yeah, I drive the Honda. I like driving a stick anyway, and I prefer a small car. Of course, BRRRAAAWLING down the street is hard to get used to, though I have become rather adept at the microfine differences in accelerator pressure in order to try and lessen the intensity of the roar. And, as our finances have slowly increased from both of us working two jobs (three for Beau if you count his two hours a day driving a school bus), we finally had enough money to get the muffler replaced and even splurge on an oil change. I was looking forward to it, and to crossing off "muffler" from "The List." On our fridge is slapped a white board which contains a horribly-lengthy list of all the things we need to pay for before we're sound. Besides fixing the muffler, it includes old bills, getting a driver's license and car registration, etc. The list has gone unmarked for quite some time, if you don't count Beau trying to wipe out my entry of "getting a second cat" *grin* or his other attempted wipe-out of "fly fishing rod" which I consider a necessity for Beau's own sanity. As many of you know, an (un)happy spouse = an (un)happy you.

Then, driving into work last Friday, I heard an ominous *pop* sound and saw the speedometer needle do a 360 degree dance around the dial before lying still forever.

Just great.

It didn't stop there. From that point forward, every time I drove the car, the needle would swing to and fro, back and forth across the dial, with no rhyme or reason. Furthermore, the other night I was leaving Shop-n-Smile about 10pm, and blasting Kylie Minogue's famous(ly-overplayed) dance tune, "Can't Get You Out of My Head" and really feeling it. Apparently, I wasn't the only one. *BOOM BOOM BOOM* went my little Honda. Then I got to the first stoplight, and watched in fascination and horror as both the dashboard light and headlights pulsed in time with the dance beat. It was like my own little disco car! This is not good.

So, I took it into the shop, a place I had heard good things about. Plus, they advertised in the university's newspaper, and I figured, anyone who courts poor students as customers can't charge that much. I explained the problem to them, and left. Around 4pm I get a call at work.

"Um, yeah, your oil has been changed and the muffler was replaced fine. About the dash...well, it's not a cable, it's all electrical and digital in there. And your car has like 10,000 feet of cables, and to find the electrical problem, we'd have to test those cables, inch by inch, and well, you can imagine all the labor costs. You'll probably have to take it into the dealer."

*gulp*

Exactly the words I dread: "take it into the dealer." So, I called up the only Honda dealership in town, asked for the mechanic, and explained my disco car problem to him. After a moment's pause he said, "Gee, I've never seen anything like that before."

Oh. My. God.

"Never? I mean, it doesn't even sound familiar to you?"

"No."

Wonderful.

I can hear *cha-ching cha-ching* going off in my mind again and again. The shop I had taken the car too also suggested a place in town that only does electrical stuff for cars. Maybe I'll try them. Maybe I'll win the lottery.

Or maybe, in reality, I'll just drive around with pulsating lights and no speedometer for awhile. "Just try to drive along with the other cars in the meantime," suggested the mechanic.

That may just happen...for a long, long time.