02-03-2006, 11:01 PM
Shortly after my dad had his stroke, Stacy's Civic was giving her trouble so she sold it. My mom was tired of paying insurence for two cars, both Toyota Camrys, so she gave one to me. It was formerly her car, actually, and she took over my dad's car. It's a '97 with only 80,000 miles on it, only driven by my mom around Sunnyvale. It had this lingering issue starting and stalling. I dropped about $500 into it over the summer to seal the head gaskets. Then another $500 went in just before I left for Hawaii last December to replace the fuel sensors. When I came back, another $500 went in for a new IAC valve and battery. The problem kept getting worse. This was with the dealership. They're more expensive, but they should know the car, are in walking distance of my office, and I've gotten great service withe the Prius. Last week, they wanted another $500 for a new fuel pump. I took it to another mechanic and it's been there all week. Today, he gave up. He couldn't figure out what was wrong. Fortunately, he's not charging me for his examination and seems genuinely sorry he couldn't offer more advice.
Now I don't know cars worth shit. My dad was an engineer, a nuclear engineer, which meant he understood the mechanics of cars and worked on them, but the results were dubious. It was always a sore point in our relationship. When I had my my Corolla wagon, the driver's side door handle broke. He was determined to fix it with epoxy and popsicle sticks. I was a poor graduate student at UCSC and could afford the humilaition of crawling through the passenger side. We both went to dumps to find a replacement part. My dad found it first but refused to buy it because he prefered his epoxy and popsicle sticks. That was a huge argument. He eventually told concede. Another time he couldn't get my manual Corrola to start while I was away so he basically hotwired the car with a light switch to the ignition under the hood. The problem was he wasn't used to manual shift and had tried to start it out of gear. That was another huge argument. Now I wonder if he ever tinkered with the Camry and how that might have affected it. 80,000 is not a lot of miles. The car is in great shape, except for this weird problem that no mechanic seems to be able to solve. Now it's gotten so bad that I don't trust it, especially with Tara in the backseat. Stacy and I are looking to get a loan for a new car.
It's strange. I hate that Camry. It was free, so I can't complain, but it was so damn suburban, not at all what I'd choose to drive. In the two years I've had it, I don't know how many times I've put my key into another green Camry thinking it was mine. But still, there's something quirky about it that reminds me of my father. The doors lock and unlock with sharp turns. The cabin light goes on and off at random. There's still a shoe horn from some golf course that I've kept as a memento of my dad in the glove compartment. Because of the car situation, it's been three weeks since I've been able to visit my folks. I gotta get a new car....
Now I don't know cars worth shit. My dad was an engineer, a nuclear engineer, which meant he understood the mechanics of cars and worked on them, but the results were dubious. It was always a sore point in our relationship. When I had my my Corolla wagon, the driver's side door handle broke. He was determined to fix it with epoxy and popsicle sticks. I was a poor graduate student at UCSC and could afford the humilaition of crawling through the passenger side. We both went to dumps to find a replacement part. My dad found it first but refused to buy it because he prefered his epoxy and popsicle sticks. That was a huge argument. He eventually told concede. Another time he couldn't get my manual Corrola to start while I was away so he basically hotwired the car with a light switch to the ignition under the hood. The problem was he wasn't used to manual shift and had tried to start it out of gear. That was another huge argument. Now I wonder if he ever tinkered with the Camry and how that might have affected it. 80,000 is not a lot of miles. The car is in great shape, except for this weird problem that no mechanic seems to be able to solve. Now it's gotten so bad that I don't trust it, especially with Tara in the backseat. Stacy and I are looking to get a loan for a new car.
It's strange. I hate that Camry. It was free, so I can't complain, but it was so damn suburban, not at all what I'd choose to drive. In the two years I've had it, I don't know how many times I've put my key into another green Camry thinking it was mine. But still, there's something quirky about it that reminds me of my father. The doors lock and unlock with sharp turns. The cabin light goes on and off at random. There's still a shoe horn from some golf course that I've kept as a memento of my dad in the glove compartment. Because of the car situation, it's been three weeks since I've been able to visit my folks. I gotta get a new car....
Shadow boxing the apocalypse