Posts tagged ‘driving’
Life according to roadkill
Sometimes you’re the electric window, sometimes you’re the bird.
Our car is in the shop and we have a lovely rental car for the week. When the rental car was delivered, Scott noticed this unfortunate situation.
A good portion of a bird was stuck in the window. The woman from the rental company said she heard something on the drive over but, huh, look at that. No wonder there was a funny noise! Here are the keys. See ya!
(The hand is only a reflection, not another thing trapped in the window. But maybe if it were, they’d move a little faster to get our car back to us!)
Can’t get left: roundabouts are coming
Remember when I took all those lessons with Bobby Charlton and got myself a UK driving license? Remember when I said that it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done? Remember when I convinced Scott to get an automatic car? And don’t you remember when I said I probably wouldn’t drive much anyway? I did say that, didn’t I?
Well, I don’t drive much. In fact, I rarely go outside a 5 mile radius of where we live without Scott in the passenger seat. I used to drive over 7 hours by myself through the back woods of Maryland and West Virginia to get to college. I even drove with one hand through snowy mountains while wrestling with a cd player adaptor thingie because I was driving a 1994 Volvo with a broken tape deck. I don’t recommend this but I’m just saying…I was brave (and possibly stupid).
These days I’m afraid to even reach over and turn the wipers on. Forget driving on the other side of the road. I’m thinking about the cars coming at me at high speeds, whipping in and out of the world’s smallest streets and parking spaces. I’m just plain scared.
Scott is off to Africa for his friend’s wedding and he assumed I’d drop him off at Gatwick Airport. We all know what happens when you assume. Besides the fact that he needs to go to the London airport furthest away from us, it will be bad traffic and dark on the way back and…I’m skurred! The only thing worse would be if I actually had to park at the airport.
Oh! And how could I forget roundabouts? So.many.roundabouts. And sometimes they are attached and you have to go on roundabout after roundabout before you can go straight again. (See the magic roundabout in Hemel Hempstead.)
I long for the days of driving 55 mph on wide open highways.
And then I remembered seeing this on the side of the road by my parents’ house in Virginia.
Oh dear Lord, roundabouts in America? Roundabouts in Virginia? I can see the locals scratching their heads and thinking, We ain’t got no fancy roads in these here parts. We thought we was gettin’ a Tilt-a-Whirl!
According to the website, roundabouts reduce accidents, traffic congestion and fuel consumption among other things. The website also details how to drive through a roundabout, pedestrian considerations and 25 reasons to appreciate the roundabout.
Suddenly going on a roundabout in the UK isn’t as scary as attempting one in the US. I can’t wait until our next trip to Virginia so we can check out the roundabout in action.
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to convince Scott to take the train. Otherwise I’ll have to use The Secret to get to and from Gatwick alive and with no major wreckage. Maybe I should pretend I’m on a Tilt-a-Whirl.
I’ll just have to try to keep my eyes open.
When it rains
On Sunday, Mom and Dad buy a new car. Dad sells old car. On Monday, Amanda’s car breaks down. Amanda borrows Dad’s car. Lisa starts to move out. Luckily the new car is big enough to haul her furniture all over Northern Virginia. Dad books new car into dealership on Tuesday to get extra features added. Down three cars. One car for the family to share. Hell.
Dad decides to push back flight to Iraq. Mechanic calls. Amanda’s car is not well. Dad books a rental car for Wednesday. In preparation of a road trip to New York, we trade last remaining cars with Amanda. Discover that car has no heat. Not very good for driving in January but even worse when it’s pouring rain and the windows keep fogging up. Go home to tell Dad. Down another car.
Decide to trade cars back with Amanda in the morning. Drop Dad off at car rental place, leave Dad standing in the rain as car rental place isn’t open yet. Drive 25 miles in the opposite direction to find Amanda. Locate Amanda and switch cars. Warn her about no heat and having to wipe the inside of the windows often.
Drive to New York City in Lisa’s car. Park overnight in Queens. Move car at 8:30am before street cleaning begins.
Meanwhile, Dad calls dealership. Dealership says they haven’t even started work on the new car. Dad flips out. Dealership offers a free rental car. Up two rental cars.
Leave New York City. Drive back to DC. On 495, a truck passes and kicks up a rock. Rock lands on Lisa’s windshield. Windshield cracks. Feel terrible. Drive home to tell Dad.
Call insurance, schedule appointment to fix windshield. Follow Dad to the auto garage. Watch Dad crash the rental car into another car. Wait on the side of the road while four fire trucks, two ambulances, and three police cars come on the scene. See fire trucks survey the scene – a fender bender- and leave. Watch the ambulances leave. Get questioned by police. Wait for police to tell us we can leave.
Get windshield fixed in 15 minutes. Up three cars.
Tomorrow the car with no heat goes into the garage. Still haven’t heard the outcome on Amanda’s car. Dad and Amanda start car shopping. Maybe get the new car back tomorrow. Still keeping the two rental cars. Thanking our lucky stars Dad opted to take the extra insurance on them.
Don’t feel so bad about the cracked windshield anymore.
Baby, you can drive my car
With Scott’s promotion, he gets a new car and he chose a BMW. In black. Which is great because everyone looks good in black.
I’m not just concerned about the color but I don’t really care about the type of engine or the wheels or whatever else you consider when buying a car. I only begged requested that it be automatic. And Scott, seeing a lifetime of whining ahead of him if he refused, agreed. After all, I did pass the driving test in manual and that is enough.
So…
Color choice: check!
Automatic transmission: check!
My last question was an equally important one.
Will the car beep when I get too close to another car/tree/building/person?
Scott’s response:
It has a reverse parking sensor so yes – it beeps when you get close to something. But not when going forwards…since you can see what is in front of you, I didn’t bother adding that feature.
Oh, Scott, if only it were that simple.
I need to get me a pair!
I haven’t really been driving much. I have a lot of excuses. Really good ones too. But when we went out on Saturday night and I suggested we all go in our car, Scott looked at me funny and then agreed. I said, “Oh, are you thinking if we take our car, you won’t be able to have some drinks?”
He responded with, “No, because my wife knows how to drive and can do it.”
Luckily everyone (except me) had a couple of drinks so the slow and somewhat jerky ride home isn’t as memorable for them as it was for me. Although the jerkiness of the ride probably didn’t make anyone feel very good, I did get us all home, safe and sound.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking lately that I really should try a bit more. It is scary. It’s uncomfortable. But it may just be the time to buck up and do it.
Speaking of cars and balls courage, I wanted to show you this photo I took in the US.
You’re thinking…Only in America. I’m thinking…Only on a truck from West Virginia.
Beep, beep!
I passed!Woohoo!
Well, I did it. At 9:02 am I became a fully licensed driver in the UK. And I have to brag about this…I only got 1 minor fault! You can get 15 before failing. While it isn’t a perfect score, I just have to rub it in a bit.
Scott is the only person I know who passed his test on the first time and he kept telling me that even if I passed, I would probably still have a lot of learning left. That’s fine. But only 2 out of 10 people pass on the first time and usually with quite a few minor faults. I think Scott had 11 or so faults.
And look at me! The American girl only got 1 minor fault and passed on the first time! The American girl who only ever drives automatic cars on the other side of the road and hunts for parking spots where she can pull through!
I didn’t know how the morning would go for me. At the test centre, my instructor, Bobby, and I sat side by side in silence. I think he was more nervous than I was. Then this man came out and called my name. He looked just like the dad from the movie, Home Alone. And I like to make those sorts of connections so I feel more comfortable. I mean, think about it…how bad would it be if he looked just like Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs?
Once we were outside by the car, I had to answer questions about vehicle maintenance and “Ask my dad/husband/boyfriend” is not a sufficient answer. Home Alone Dad told me to show him where I would find the brake fluid so I put the key in the lock to open the hood of the car and accidentally set the alarm off. Crap! I panicked and sort of stood there, not sure what to do. I pushed all the buttons on the key fob and it stopped. I’m not sure which button worked but the examiner didn’t know that.
Great start!
Soon we were onto the roads and the examiner asked me the usual questions – Where are you from? How do you like it here? What made you move here? Oh, you married a Brit – was it the accent?
I never expected Home Alone Dad to talk to me so much but it made me feel very comfortable and I figured if I kept him talking and laughing, maybe he would take pity on me. He told me about his trip to New Jersey years ago when he played rugby. I told him about learning to drive in America. He asked me what I was doing for the holidays. We talked about recent films we’d seen. We were practically best friends by the end of my test, how could he fail me?
About halfway through the test and after I was pretty sure I had won him over with my excellent conversation skills, I started to relax a bit. It was over in no time and I was shocked to hear I had only taken the reversing around the corner a little wide and was only incurring 1 minor fault. It’s like learning Algebra. When am I ever going to use that in real life anyway?
So, I am very pleased and I think I saw tears in Bobby’s eyes when Home Alone Dad told him how well I did. Or maybe Bobby was just thinking what I was thinking…THANK GOD IT’S ALL OVER!
Here I am in my dream Volvo.
Open letter to the Driving Standards Agency
To: Chief Executive Officer – The Driving Standards Agency
Cc: Rt Hon Ruth Kelly MP, Secretary of State for Transport
Dear Sir,
I am writing to vehemently complain about the recent treatment I received from the DSA in the hope that you may be able to help with my situation without delay.
Yesterday at 4pm, I received a message on my answer machine informing me that my driving test which was scheduled for today at 2:32pm had been cancelled. No reason was given. The message went on to say that the test would be rescheduled and a notice would be sent out to me in the mail.
Once I had heard this message I called the test scheduling line to find out the reason for the abrupt cancellation and what could be done about it. I was told that the examiner was sick and my test had been rebooked for the 28th November (five weeks from now!). I asked to speak to a supervisor who told me that there was nothing at all they could do about the situation apart from perhaps look for a cancellation at another centre.
To say I am upset and angry about this would be an understatement. I have spent over £600 in the past three weeks on driving lessons leading up to taking my test tomorrow. I will now have to arrange more lessons at my own cost over the next five weeks to ensure I am still up to the required standard for the new test. The supervisor I spoke to said that no compensation would be offered for this and the only thing I could claim for was the actual time I was supposed to have the original test. I think this is a disgrace. I have no other option but to continue to take lessons until the new test which I wouldn’t have to take if it wasn’t for your agency’s lack of good planning.
I understand that people get sick but if a school teacher gets sick, a supply teacher is called in. How can it be that there are no stand-in driving examiners to prevent situations like this from arising?
I feel that all the hard work and money I have put in over the last few weeks to get me test-ready have been a waste. If I had known I wouldn’t be tested until the end of November, I would have scheduled my lessons differently. £600 is a lot of money and I am now going to have to find more because of something that is the fault of your agency. This is not acceptable to me.
I am currently trying my best to get the test brought forward but this is looking unlikely as the centre is fully booked for over a month. I have reluctantly accepted that this is not going to change. What I will not accept is that I am going to be out of pocket due to the poor handling of the situation by the DSA.
I expect to be fully compensated for the lessons I take between now and the new date of my test and will be invoicing you to that effect.
I would be grateful if you can look into this as a matter of urgency and send me a reply confirming that you will be compensating me for my loss.
I am aware that you are a government agency and therefore have no shareholders to answer to, giving you little incentive to provide world-class customer service but I expect that you will pay me the courtesy of agreeing to my request as being a tax payer, I am the closest thing you have to a shareholder.
Yours truly-
Unhappy in Hatfield
Remember us?
We had a nice trip home (minus the sedated woman sitting next to Scott on the plane who spilled her wine in his lap about, oh, two hours into the flight.) We stopped off in Virginia for the night before loading Beauford (my late grandmother’s Buick) with our bags and heading west. Now it’s not the sleekest of cars but let me tell you…Beauford is one comfortable ride. It was seriously like riding a sofa all the way to Charleston, West Virginia.
One of my very best friends, Alli, got married on Saturday and it was a beautiful day. Remember the entry about my bridesmaid dress? Well, it didn’t even matter that I didn’t have a matching wrap because all it would have been good for was wiping sweat off my face. (Just what every bride wants her bridesmaids to be doing!) It was so hot! My new pale British skin couldn’t take it. But it was so great to reunite with my college friends and dance the night away with them and the gorgeous bride!
The next day, we loaded ol’ Beauford up again and headed south. Nine hours later, the car pretty much stopped feeling like a sofa and more like hell. We drove out to the Outer Banks of North Carolina at about 10pm – just in time for every store, restaurant, and tourist attraction to shut down and turn off their lights. So we added another hour onto our trip while we slowly drove down the main drag, squinting at all the street signs, looking for ours.
We finally found my mom waving a flashlight in the middle of the street, directing us to the house. Yes, this is how we do it in my family.
We spent the next three days roasting on the beach, playing putt-putt, reading American gossip magazines, drinking lots of sweet tea, and searching for some decent seafood…which sounds silly seeing as the Outer Banks boasts some of the best seafood around. Maybe it was just a bad week for them. On our last day, we went to the Wright Brothers Memorial to see where they made their first flight. This was obviously the highlight of the trip for Scott.
It was a great time. And because my driving test in the UK isn’t too far away, we decided I shouldn’t drive in the US just so I wouldn’t risk screwing myself up. Which meant Scott did ALL the driving. So when I was complaining about the car not feeling like a sofa anymore, it was 50 times worse for Scott.
Anyway, we drove back up to the DC area and spent a couple of days with my family. My aunt, uncle and cousin came down to visit too and it’s always nice to see as many people as possible. We definitely crammed a lot in and I was at Target about four hours before our flight left on Sunday. It is a damn shame that Brits have to miss out on Target. If you can’t find it at Target, you don’t know what you’re doing – that’s what I say.
So now we’re back in rainy England. That hot wedding day in Charleston seems like ages ago and our tans started to fade the minute we got off the plane.
But we have a lot to look forward to in the coming months. Like I said, my sister, Lisa, is living with us until Christmas. It’s going well so far. The way I see it…we lived together for 18 years and I know her well enough that if she’s bugging me, I’ll just tell her. But she feels a bit like a guest in our place so she offers to do the dishes and dust and vacuum. So, it’s a win-win situation in my eyes.
Besides looking for a J-O-B, I am also hard at work practicing for my driving test. It ain’t easy or pretty, folks. And when I go driving with Scott, it mostly ends in tears.
For instance, a couple days ago when I pulled into the space after a trip in the car, this was how the conversation went:
<Scott gives horrified look>
Caitlin: What?
Scott: Nothing. <looks away and shakes his head>
Caitlin: What? Tell me!
Scott: From that last roundabout to right here, you were not in control of the vehicle.
Caitlin: Well, I felt in control.
Scott: You were not in control.
Caitlin: What did I do wrong?
Scott: Do you seriously think you were in control?
Caitlin: Tell me what I did wrong!
Scott: Your test is in three weeks and you’re not ready.
Caitlin: You’re not helping me learn. You’re just being critical!
Scott: I don’t know how to help you if you think you were in control just then.
Caitlin: <through sobs> You don’t do it like Bobby! Bobby doesn’t say those things to me! I can’t do this with you. I’m better with Bobby!
So I’m back into lessons with Bobby and they’re going pretty well, I think. I hope.
Now I know why they say you really should learn to drive with someone unrelated to you…
So that’s what we’ve been up to. I leave you with this clip of Alli’s grandpa. He’s still got the moves at 80-something years old.
On the road again
I am learning to drive. Again.
I have a US license but it’s no longer valid after being here for a year and I need to pass the British driving test in order to drive. You may remember that a year ago, I wrote about learning to drive in the UK. I had this crazy idea I would have my license by our one year anniversary.
Silly me.
I have a million excuses as to why I haven’t learned yet. I take the train to work. I don’t have any friends outside London that I would need to drive to see. The friends we do have who are not on the train line, are friends of us both and we see them together so Scott drives. I rarely go shopping outside London…so again, I can just use the train.
My wise husband said, “But if you learned to drive, you could go to the supermarket by yourself.”
Ha! Like you’re getting out of that, I don’t think so! But that’s not a reason to drive anyway because we now order groceries online and the groceries are delivered to the door.
But I hear you when you say learning to drive manual is a “lifelong skill” and “like riding a bike” and you’ll feel “so much more in control.” And I even hear when you say “it’s fun!” even though I could think of something more fun.
But yes, the time has come. Along with some good old-fashioned bribery.
I have been hankering after an overstuffed chair and ottoman for the living room. Scott says when I pass the test, we’ll buy it. (I also asked if we could throw in a new handbag to match my new car keys.)
So I signed myself up with the AA. Not to be confused with AA. (Although I may be hitting the bottle if I fail the driving test.) To make things even more confusing, the AA is just like AAA in the US.
According to the DSA, those who pass their driving test have had, on average, about 45 hours of professional training combined with 22 hours of private practice. You must take a theory test (similar to the US test) and then a hazards perception test. I bought the DVD-ROM to study the test and the hazards perception test is basically 14 real life clips and you have to click when you see a hazard. If you click too fast or too slow, too little or too much, you fail. And basically everything could be a hazard. It isn’t easy.
Once you pass the written exam, just like in the US, you take the practical exam. And that’s the scary one. Driving tests in the US vary but when I took mine, it was organized through the high school and my friend and I signed up to be in the same car. Our instructor also was the one who decided if we passed or not. Driving on the beltway in DC was terrifying but I would say the rest of it, especially compared to the UK test, was a piece of cake.
In the UK, my driving instructor is not the person who will decide if I pass or fail. He just prepares me for the test and then a completely new person rides in the car with me and decides my fate.
So what is involved in this practical exam? I am not sure but I do know there’s a mock test on the DVD and I will be watching it before I take my exam. Apparently the practical exam lasts 40 minutes. And involves driving, maneuvers like reversing around a corner keeping within a certain distance from the curb and parallel parking (help me God), and vehicle checks. This is where they ask you things like identify where the brake fluid reservoir is and how to check if the tires have sufficient tread depth so they are safe to drive on.
When what I really want to say is, well, if I blow out a tire because of poor tread depth, I will call you, the AA, to come and help me. So if you ask me, sounds like they are going to lose a potential customer! I am reminded of a Simpsons episode where Bart visits the dentist and afterwards the dentist hands Bart a free toothbrush and tells him to brush well at home. Bart says, “So you’re saying I should do your job, for you, at home, for free? You wish!”
Anyway since I have been driving for nearly 10 years already in the US, I am hoping to cut down on the lessons. But I know I will not be able to pass without some formal training so I bit the bullet and signed up for 12 hours.
I had my first one last weekend. I was nervous and scared and felt 15 all over again. Only this time, I wouldn’t have my friend in the car with me or be on the “right” side of the road or laughing about trying to walk with the drunk goggles they make you try out in Driver’s Ed.
My instructor is an older gentleman. His name is Bobby. Bobby Charlton. Not the Bobby Charlton. He is really nice but quiet. He also doesn’t seem to know much about driving in America. I thought it was pretty much common knowledge that we drive on the other side of the road. I also told him how we have stop signs everywhere and here, it’s just a lot of giving way. And I have never been on a roundabout in the US, although I hear you do come across one every once in awhile.
On my first lesson, I was doing so well. We mostly just drove around a neighborhood and practiced turning and finding the “biting point” and reversing. It was almost the end of the two hour lesson and we came up to a junction. I hit the curb and panicked and stalled. My first time stalling during the whole lesson! I think that’s pretty good.
Bobby looked around and said, “Oh dear. Let’s not do that again, shall we?” Ho-ho -ho. Ha-ha-ha (in a posh British way.)
So I laughed nervously and joked about how I am surprised I am not hitting the curb more since I’m not used to having the car on the left side of me. He just sort of looked at me.
I had my second lesson this past Sunday. Bright and early. Which is really a lie because it was dark, miserable and rainy. We went to St. Albans which is where I will be taking my practical test. I drove around a neighborhood for the first part of the lesson and then Bobby took me onto the real roads. And I was freaking out. Inside of course. I was trying to put on a brave face.
Then he turns to me and says, “Well done. Now take us back to Hatfield.”
My face said, What? Are you kidding me? Take yourself back! I’ll get the bus if I have to!
But I said, “Ok, sure.”
And then for the next 15 minutes, I drove, white knuckled through little villages, down tiny roads with cars parked on both sides, and road works. We came around a corner and saw a contruction worker holding up a stop sign and both Bobby and I said, “No, turn green, turn green!” knowing I couldn’t take the stress of stopping on a hill. Luckily he turned the sign around just in time.
Then we approached a double roundabout. Now, let me just say, we haven’t practiced roundabouts at all. So when I saw that double one, I felt sick. Bobby told me to go straight and then right. But everything seems “right” when you’re on a roundabout.
When we got to the other side of the roundabout alive, I finally let out a breath and Bobby said, “We only got through that one by sheer luck.”
My face said, No shit! Don’t ever do that to me again!
But I said, “Yeah, I need some practice.”
Somehow I managed to drive the 5 miles home. I don’t know how it happened. It was an out of body experience. Bobby told me I did a brilliant job and said he doesn’t normally do that with students after just two lessons. I laughed and nodded and thanked him.
Then I walked in the house and threw up.
Ok, I didn’t throw up. I wanted to. I was shaking. My pulse has only just returned to normal this morning.
But you know what, I did it! I still have to practice a bit more and take the test. But now I can say that if Scott ever needed to be rushed to the hospital, I could take him. (Even though I could just call an ambulance and that’s one more reason why I really don’t need to learn to drive…)
A Tribute to Vivi
Many of the readers of this blog know Vivi. Some people remember Vivi from my high school days, or my college years and even a couple of readers know Vivi from way back in 1994 when we first met.
Some of you lucky folks may have sat in Vivi’s backseat. A few readers have even driven her.
Yes, I am talking about Vivi the Volvo.
Back in the early 90s, we were living in Germany and my parents worked with a Volvo sales rep named Mr. Peachy. He was British and I loved to hear him say, “It’s Mista Paychee ringing.”
Anyway, back to Vivi. Mr. Peachy helped my parents create the perfect Volvo and they went to Sweden for the weekend to pick up Vivi. When they returned with the dark blue-green beauty, my sisters and I sat in the backseat together and watched in awe as my dad showed us all the features. We pressed the buttons to roll up and down the windows. Which, I assure you, was quite spectacular as we had a mini van but there are no window buttons in the back where we sat and our car in Korea had a mixture of electric and manual roll down windows so it depended on where you sat (don’t ask).
I’m sure Vivi was more exciting for my parents who suddenly had this brand new car that they hand picked. I wouldn’t be driving for several years so I was more concerned about the electric windows than the turbo engine. But since this blog is about me and Vivi, we’ll fast forward to my driving years with one quick stop pre-license:
Vivi was a victim of a horrible crime in the mid-90s. While on spring break, our house was broken into by a young man who had a 900 number sex line addiction. Police suspect he liked to break into homes and rack up hundreds of dollars calling these numbers and then leaving the home as it was. But our phone service had a block on these numbers so instead the guy ordered Pay-Per-View Playboy movies and settled down into our basement for a movie marathon (shudder).
Our neighbors discovered that a window had been broken and called the police. The police called us up at my grandma’s in Ohio and told us we had been burgled. They said they really couldn’t see any big items missing and they went through the house, room by room, with my parents (on the phone). Their concern was that one of the bedrooms upstairs had been ransacked. They described drawers dumped, clothes all over, jewelry box open on the bed. My parents called me up where I was sleeping at my cousins’. I spoke to my mom on the phone and she very seriously said, “The house has been broken into and they think the person was looking for something in your bedroom. Do you know what they were looking for? Were you holding anything for anyone? Did you tell someone we’d be on vacation?” I asked why they thought my room was the target.
Mom: “Your clothes were dumped out of drawers.”
Me: “Oh…I did that.”
Mom: “Well, there were things thrown all over and your jewelry box was opened on your bed.”
Me: “Um…yeah, I did that.”
Mom: “You left your room like that?”
Me: “I couldn’t find my camera and dad was yelling at us to get into the car.”
Aha. So it was my dad’s fault!
Anyway, again, back to Vivi. The police told my parents that it didn’t look like anything was stolen and that we should just return to Virginia as normally planned. And that’s what we did…but as we pulled up to our house, one of my sisters said, “Where’s the Volvo?”
And we knew then that she was gone. Vivi had been carnapped!!
Now the details of Vivi’s rescue are somewhat hazy as I was 13 years old and pretty much only worried about myself. But it goes something like this: we had a set amount of days to wait before insurance would pay out for the whole of the car and at first, my parents really wanted Vivi back. But then as time went by, the idea of getting a payout and picking a new Vivi was more appealing than getting the old Vivi back, used and abused. (Did they have no love at all???)
At any rate, just days before that deadline, someone in Oklahoma (or Utah…I don’t know…one of those states out there) found the car registration on the side of the road. And then two days later, Vivi was found in the streets of LA. And no, she was not enjoying the sights. She was packed with drugs and being driven by two convicts who swore they got her fair and square from some zitty teenager from the east coast.
So, Vivi, a practically new car…the good car…the car my dad didn’t want us to ever eat in…had been driven thousands of miles by some kid who probably didn’t even appreciate her incredible turning radius. She was then sold, sliced open, packed with drugs and laden with Coke cans and Cheetos bags and left roaming the the streets of LA. Poor car.
After such an experience, she was stripped of her interior and put back together again and she was “almost” as good as new. Except for the thousands of miles she had to wear, like the scarlet letter.
But I loved her. When I started to learn to drive, I felt safe with her. And also because someone told me you could drive off the road in a Volvo, roll several times and still be okay because of the sturdy frame.
And you could do a lot to her. And we did. Amanda once crashed into another car at the mall. (And did she also knock off the mailbox in this car?) And I got my flip flip caught under the accelerator and rammed into the neighbor’s car. The neighbor’s car had about $150 damage. And Vivi…well, it was a lot more! And not only did I have to pay, I was also banned from wearing flip flops while driving and had to keep a pair of sneakers in the car at all times.
Vivi was the car we drove to the airport to pick Scott up for the first time. Awww. It was the car I showed off my new driving skills in (except when a year later I drove to the airport yet again to pick up Scott and I accidentally bumped the car in front of me when I was trying to park…it’s ok Mom and Dad, I made sure no one saw!)
We drove her to high school every day until my parents realized it was ridiculous for us to be driving a Volvo, when we could be driving a crappier car. They bought us a Ford Taurus and Lisa and I drove that to school. Lisa would later go on to total that car but that’s another tribute.
And Vivi…she went with me. When I was allowed to have a car at college, I got Vivi. My parents felt she was the safest choice for me since I would be making the 7 hour trip back and forth. And she was perfect. She kept me warm on the long trips through the West Virginia mountains. We worked out a system where the cassette player would suddenly start working again whenever a big road trip was coming up. She rarely let me down on that front although her back speakers had been blown out years before. My friends would argue over who got the front seat on trips to Parkersburg because the bun warmers were that good.
Slowly, Vivi started to show her age. You couldn’t change gears unless using all your force to pull the gear shift thingy down. (Later I found out there was a release button you could push.) The cassette player started to eat the cd adaptor tape. The air conditioning stopped working. You could no longer move the driver’s seat or adjust the angle. It was stuck in that position. I had shut the seat belt in the door so many times that it was a broken piece of plastic and didn’t properly retract. Her gas tank gauge was permanently stuck on empty so you had to guess when it was time to fill her up.
Because of her aging state, I had to make many trips with my dad to the small car parts store and wait in the stale smoke smelling room while men who looked straight out of Creedence Clearwater Revival waited on us. I also had to drive back and forth to the Swedish Import place so Vivi could get special Swedish TLC. And probably most memorable would be my first trip to Hubcap Heaven… yes, it really is called that. And no, it wasn’t heaven to me. Now, if it had been called Handbag Heaven…
But I loved her still. She could make u-turns like no other! And after years and years, she could still move like “shit off a shovel.” While Lisa was driving a Nissan Sentra (often referred to as the tuna can) and barely getting over 50 mph…I was sailing by in a 94 Volvo.
And yes, I did pay for it. I got my first speeding ticket in Vivi and had to pay a whopping $120 out of my college drinking fund.
But the way I see it, it could have been worse. Had I been in the tuna can, I probably wouldn’t have even made it up the mountain and I’d still be stuck somewhere in the Ohio valley.
You’re probably wondering why this is a tribute. Has Vivi died and have her parts gone to Hubcap Heaven? No…she’s been sold!
That’s right, my blog friends. Someone saw what a gem she was and actually paid asking price for her! I couldn’t be more proud. They didn’t even mind that when she’s running, she makes an obnoxious clicking sound. And it continues… all.the.time.
When my parents told me she was going up for sale, I was sad although I knew it was time. But when they emailed to tell me she was actually bought by someone…I started to tear up. I loved that car.
As this entry shows, Vivi and I have been through a lot. She kept me warm when I was cold…and well, since the AC broke, she kept me warm when I was warm too. But the point is…she kept me safe. And I think everyone should have a Volvo like Vivi. (And if Volvo wants to give me a Volvo for giving them so much praise on my blog…just ask Mr. Peachy to find me back in his motherland.)
Ain’t she a beauty?
