Quick and Angry (part 2 of 2)

(Continued from Part 1)

Nevertheless, Rover’s standard 5-speed pistol grip shifter, framed with the gray plastic cup holders and “random sundries” bin, redefined grace, elegance and functionality for me. (It makes me salivate—and start to sweat just a little—just to reminisce about him.) Alas, I was unfair and abusive to Rover during the course of our relationship. I guess we just stayed together too long, and I gradually began taking him for granted, regularly alternating on him cruel cycles of abuse and neglect. I can see that now, of course—too late.

I customized his gray carpets, mostly on the passenger’s side, with a shade of pink only achievable with an appropriate volume of Sonic Cherry Limeade never properly tended to. And when the inevitably hard highway miles I forced on him began showing chips and flakes across his bow, rather than waste good money on a $99 Earl Scheib paint job, instead I splurged on a couple of 99-cent cans of white Krylon from Walmart, which I applied to his hood like a tagging felon in my own garage.

As Rover began to approach 100,000 miles, the money his life support was costing our family simply became too much of a burden. I had already spent more on him than his blue book value said he was worth, and the auto physicians still refused to offer me any guarantees they could even save him, let alone return him to his glory days. My eye began to wander, and before long it settled on a dark blue Honda Civic with adorable curves. She smelled soooo good. I decided I had to have her. I planned to call her Roxanne.

On the day Roxanne was ready for me, honestly I was a little embarrassed making Rover drive me to the dealership. But not for me—for him. Of course I didn’t tell him we were going there to pick her up—let alone that he would not be coming home with us. To add insult to injury, the last formality of my business transaction with Roxanne’s dealer was when, standing right in front of him, I unceremoniously handed Rover’s keys over to the guy. Rover really was just pathetic that day, disgusting…and I was glad to be rid of him.

Roxanne and I would run errands together all over town. Sometimes we’d go for a drive just to get outside and spend some time together, rolling her windows down and listening to her radio. For a while, when we’d be out on one of our “adventures,” we’d see Rover here and there. He’d try to smile at me, but I’d scowl back, and then he’d just look away, all embarrassed, and scuttle off, pretending like he hadn’t seen us.

After a while, we stopped seeing him altogether. I wouldn’t be surprised if he moved away somewhere. For all I know, he may even be dead. It’s probably a little cruel of me, but I honestly don’t care. I mean, after all, he’s just a car.

Does YOUR car have a name? If so, what is it? Do you think I was too hard on Rover? (Before answering, keep in mind: You didn’t know him.)

4 Responses to “Quick and Angry (part 2 of 2)”

  1. Brian Russell September 27, 2010 at 12:06 pm #

    I recently had a parting of the ways with my Anke (she was German). I have a feeling that someday I may be ready to make a commitment again, but honestly I’m rather enjoying the opportunity to test out a variety of makes and models if you know what I mean. In fact, if not for Anke’s and my break up, I would not have had the pleasure of getting to know Roxanne the other day. What?

    • Brannon September 30, 2010 at 3:43 pm #

      I remember Anke. She was hot. She didn’t talk much. I like that.

  2. karin September 30, 2010 at 12:03 pm #

    Mine is known as the “8” (when running ggod) and “the Beast” (when not so good)….Lately it has been more of “the Beast.” Don’t get me wrong, the Beast is beautiful and sporty and was my mid-life crisis purchase. But how I long to have my lil Neon back, even with its 110,000 miles. And, yes it was a Neon with the spoiler…HAHA

    • Brannon September 30, 2010 at 3:45 pm #

      Neon with a spoiler?!? Wha…?!? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore, man…

      Sorry to hear about the Beast. I can highly recommend Civics. They’re bulletproof reliable and dead-sexy. Well, reliable anyway.

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