It seems that pretty much everyone names their vehicle. The most popular names seem to be Bessie, Beulah, or even Sue. My vehicles, while named, have not been named traditional "People" names.
My first car ever was donated when
Chachi and I first got married. Granted, it didn't work (until $800 was poured into it), but it was MINE. The car, which I named "Poor, sad thing", was a 14 year old Nissan Pulsar that ran on duct tape and prayer. Once what I can only assume was a gorgeous red, the car had devolved into a faded mixture of wannabe orange and Bond-o. It was finally traded in almost 2 years later, as it loved to
decelerate as I merged into traffic. Generally near large vehicles. I'm pretty sure it just wanted to die already. I traded it in for what I thought was my dream car - a Taurus.
Stop laughing. The Taurus was initially a great car - but soon switched moods into a half crazed, mood swinging bitty.
HER name can not be printed here, as both my father and pastor tend to read this blog. Suffice it to say that she was unreliable; she died a violent death when an SUV turned left in front of us on a side street. I HATED that car.
Then came
Da Bomb. This was both a literal and figurative description. This vehicle was merely a purchase made out of desperation and lack of funds. A bright purple Dodge Neon,
Da Bomb loved to play mind games like "guess the speed limit"; "Look, a State Trooper! Time to swerve violently!"; "The blinkers are now on strike" - you get the picture. This car was apparently depressed, and seemed to have a personality along the lines of "Rags" on Spin City.
Da Bomb not only wanted to die; it was intent on taking me WITH it. During the few years of owning that Death Trap on Wheels, I experienced being head - butted by a deer (driver's side front quarter panel dented in as a result), stalling while driving a mere
seventy miles per hour, and random other indignities.
Da Bomb finally died a violent death one rainy morning on my way to work. It was run over by a semi that took a last minute right turn. Naturally, I was behind the wheel at the time - and less than a mile from work.
The Magic Mom Van came next. In spite of a few glitches and annoyances with regard to transmission issues and the like, I really loved this vehicle. This, in spite of the fact that I
swore that I would never be a soccer mom/mini van mom. The van was actually
Chachi's idea; it turned out to be a good one. The
MMV was sold as pretty much scrap metal last fall - when the transmission died a second time. It had over 265K in mileage; I believe it was a pretty good run.
This brings us to my current vehicle. Since the
MMV was such a hit, I decided to stay on that theme. This van happens to be a different brand, but has pretty neat features - stuff like electric doors, etc. I was pretty excited when we went to pick it up.
I should have known that there was a problem when the key wouldn't turn during that first visit. Somehow, after driving just fine to the mechanic, one of the tumblers (or some such) broke off. So a new piece was necessary to get it going. No problem, right?
Right. That first 'fully owned' drive was interesting, as this vehicle seems to be pulling many of the same tricks that
Da Bomb liked to play, mostly with regard to electrical things.
Mostly.
It only took a day or so for me to feel that something else was off. Something that I couldn't quite define
. Something with regard to the
olfactory system. Yes, that's right. This car has a terrible smell.
I must stress here that I didn't share this with
Chachi. See, I have terrible sinus problems. I often smell things that simply are. not. there. Things like burning wires, random fires...you get the
picture. I assumed that this was one of those times. However, as I commute for at least two hours every day, I found this smell unacceptable. I purchased air fresheners, sprays, gels...I began keeping
deodorant and spritzers in my purse. I did everything that I could think of, and nothing seemed to work.
After a few weeks of enduring this,
Chachi and I finally had to run an errand together. Since
Chachi drives a monstrosity that he abhors cleaning, we opted to take the van.
Chachi got in to drive, and we left on our merry way. About five minutes into the drive,
Chachi inhaled sharply, gagged slightly and muttered..."Man. What. IS. THAT.
SMELL?!"
I attempted not to express joy at his horror. But really! It wasn't just me! Instead, I
suppressed a grin and said "I dunno. It's pretty awful, isn't it?"
He shook his head, cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. "
Renn, it smells like something died in here."
"Yep, that pretty much describes it", I answered.
"Did you run over something? Did you check under the hood? Oh, Lord. It's getting worse!", he gagged.
I grinned and said, "Dude. It has smelled like this since we bought it and brought it home."
He said "Oh, God. We didn't ask for a
Car Fax report, did we?"
I told him that I didn't think so. He surprised me by breaking out into a grin.
"Have you named this car yet?", he asked.
"No."
"I think we have a name, then," he answered.
I asked what he had in mind, and laughed when he told me.
We now call it The Crime Scene.
