The End of An Era

Today, I commiserate with Sarah's recent loss of her first vehicle. Today, I received the estimate for what it would cost to fix my car, affectionately nicknamed The 'Scort or The Squirt by Pete. I loved my car. It was small and got great gas mileage and was paid for. I loved it because people thought it was ridiculous. I liked to think of driving The Scort as my little statement against materialism. But now it is no more.

The matter began on Friday when The Scort was not starting immediately when I turned the key. It was definately not a battery problem, and she started after I pumped the gas a bit, so I self-diagnosed a fuel injector issue. Saturday she was even more tempermental. Sunday she was very tempermental. Monday I took my parents' inherited 96 Buick LeSabre to work. My dad bought fuel injector cleaner for me and I was going to go to the gas station to fill up The Scort. She wouldn't start at all. Not at all. "No!" she said. "No! No! No!" she repeated. "I will not start!" So I called my friends at the Ford dealer in town and they recommended I bring her in for diagnostic testing. An hour later, the tow truck was here and $50 later, The Scort was safely at 32 Ford.

They initially thought it was timing belt issue. Then when they fixed it, that wasn't the problem. She still wouldn't start. So, they took the top of the engine off (at the tune of $500) to see if it was a cylinder head. Well, that is kind of what's wrong. Apparently, my engine has been overheating but the guage isn't indicating it. Thus, valves all throughout are scarred and the cylinder head is cracked. They didn't even bother looking for other damage. It is no longer "smart" for my to pour money into my little statement against materialism.

I will be shopping for a new car now.

The good news though: in all of my crazy road trips over the past year -- my move home; a weekend in Charlotte, trips to and from Omaha, driving to Dayton to do paperwork -- The Scort never stranded me. Instead, she died gracefully in my driveway, where I was safe and where I knew people who could help (my parents). Thank God for that. And thank God that she died only after the promise of future paychecks appeared on the horizon.