One year ago today: September 15, 2016, wip – problem url.
Five years ago today: September 15, 2012, on the road again.
Nine years ago today: September 15, 2008, California Johnny disappears.
Random years ago today: September 15, 2011, we can’t afford it.
If you rode inside this car, you would never believe it is almost 21 years old. What a lucky find, indeed. Here’s a picture of the interior, it shows it was mostly a one-passenger car. The windows are down, the tailgate is up, and it has been drying and airing out in the yard all day. I was downtown at dawn trying to get extra keys cut, but you got it. All the shops are out of these particular blanks, sometimes I think I’m jinxed. (It’s the second most common key blank made.) But then, I remember how far Florida is from civilization. In 18 years, I’ve only seen maybe three blond-haired men in this state.
No tears are due, however, because my budget for a similar car was $6,500 by this upcoming December. That’s how nice this car is, it would almost still be a deal at twice the price Although there have been complaints of lemons, overall the Taurus rates more highly as a used vehicle than it does brand new. I can stop saving, you guessed it, $500 per month, plus I get to keep the balance. Dare I even think the word? (Shhh, Smithsonian.)
The insurance expense is next, which I dislike because insurance companies are poor custodians of anything. They can be impossible to deal with, like the time I felt I should have the collision amount taken off the top on my policy. At first glance, that seems ridiculous. You know who runs the insurance companies and they don’t give anything away for free. But stop now and consider how this situation came about. The policy price was based on collision plus. I had a car that was worth less than the deductible, so that precludes me ever making a collision claim, right? Therefore, why should I pay an increased premium for something I could never get? Ah, now you’re thinking. Well, some of you, anyway.
Spitfire engine.
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Yep, take a look at this brand new never used jack and tell me I didn’t wheedle the deal of the decade. In its category, I mean of course. We’re not operation a vehicle lot over here. Plus, the original owner’s manual was untouched in the glove box. Though may I say that because of the passenger air bag, that box is pretty useless for much else. The manual says the car has a CD player, but I can’t find it. There are a series of buttons on the console that indicate it is fancy, with a disk changer of some kind.
[Author's note: there is no CD changer. The radio was all one model to save money whether or not the CD was present as an option. I'll install a much cheaper and better MP3 player.]
By now I’ve checked 90% of the features and everything is in new condition. It has a front mounted cassette tape slot that has never been used. And some kind of bass woofer system; sounds like it is recessed into the rear door panels. It has your standard station wagon rear defogger and wiper, the complete roof-top luggage rack, and power everything, like the six-way driver’s seat. I have not checked if it has those extra pop-up seats in the back since I never use them. The interior is spotless and the ashtrays have never been used. It has a cigarette lighter, which is handy for accessories and electric air fresheners. There spare is one of those baby tires. That’s about it, if I find any surprises, I’ll blog them.
I’ll measure out the sleeping area as soon as it cools down this evening. I’m a believer in memory foam but I can sleep on anything. There is close to seven feet of space, but I normally carry luggage and some computer gear. I see now there is a slight smoker’s film on the window interior, which I will attack with vinegar and that normally gets rid of a lot of the tobacco aroma. I can’t detect it, but Pastor Bob says it is there. He smokes. Marlborough Lites.
Happy enough so far, I took the red scooter way down to the Magnolia for potato salad. She’s okay if I set up and play on their sidewalk, but does not want to stay open late. I didn’t tell her that was fine by me. Good women my age don’t stay up late at all, it seems. Well, not any more. I should write a subjective study of the phases women go through from the eyes of a guy who is not a professional pick-up artist or a gigolo. Just an ordinary guy (pssst, that’s me) who did not marry young because he knew he could not afford it. And by the time I was ready, the pickings were impossibly slim.
It would be a bit of a documentary on the demographics of dating from a novel viewpoint. I’ve read other passages on the topic, but they seem to be from men who associate with prostitutes, which is hardly a lifestyle to be proud of by either party. Or you get these Grecian formula types with their Mercedes convertible who raid the secretarial pool behind their wife’s back. These are not any type of roll models and their general life philosophy of sex as a dirty back-room operation has always disgusted me.
I mean something different, that I should write a book from the perspective of a guy who was not desperate. That it was a slow but natural changing process that got worse for everybody as time went by. A book that looks at the phases that women get to before they give up, such as the bar scene, the dating clubs, and on to the bingo halls. Do you think I’d be qualified to write on such a topic? I mean to the extent that somebody would read it? I dunno. If you go over what I’ve already said on the subject, what could I add? I’m of the opinion that most people never taste success, never get anywhere, and never truly meet the right person. Their lives have a bigger component of settling-for-less than mine. My biggest mistake was thinking women got smarter when they got older. My second biggest mistake was how I stopped looking when I thought I’d found the right lady.
“The secret of the universe is
…..@*&^^^ NO CARRIER.”
~ Who knows.
More on the vehicle. I have not operated a car regularly since 2004. There are standard features nowadays that I’m not used to. And who likes that completely whacked out door locking system, guaranteed to lock you out of your vehicle? Except the rear tailgate, which has to be locked manually with a key. Figure that out. When the car supposedly locks itself, it leaves the rear door open for the thief. In the opposite scenario, if the car locks you out automatically, you can’t open the tailgate without the key. Where does God find these millennials? Or are they just on loan?
I combed the car as best I could. The sleeping area is more than adequate for me, even with the small rear seat still unfolded. I can easily get in from the door or the open tailgate. The driver’s seat is only 4-way, the 6-way lever is there but does not function. There is no lumbar support, which I don’t need, and while the dash has settings for a six-CD, I can’t find it. The manual says it is in a slide-out apparatus in the rear right quarter panel area, but I see nothing. The key and a good battery are needed to operate the windows, so good luck if you drop your keys down the grate just before a rainstorm.
Going through such papers as found in the car, there is a somewhat mysterious inspection sticker at 13,802 miles. You know where I’ve seen that before? On rental or leased cars after a year. This car appears to be a year old by 1997. Was it a lease vehicle? If so, it passed inspection. One explanation is that it was a leased vehicle and the guy that bought it was an employee of that same company. It would explain a few things, like why the car was a year old when it was first sold. I’m satisfied I got the car I need. Various on-line auto sites indicate I should get another 122,000 miles from the vehicle, or with routine maintenance, as much as 142,000. Unless my driving habits change, this could be my last car ever. It sold new for $17,995, back when that was real money.
ADDENDUM
By 8:30-ish (PM) I felt like going out. So I drove all the way over to the club in Bartow. The one that actually has blonde white women. They were there, collectively at one table and all dressed like they worked at the same office. You could detect the aroma of lip balm and makeup all the way from the dart board. Their foundation garments alone cost more than my wardrobe. But guys, at least they were there, you know. Five of them. You bet I was watching closely. Here is my summation of the situation. Enjoy.
“Nearly a half-ton of womanhood at one bar table. With less than 25 pounds of semi-functional working parts. And much of that was overhead. If you’ll forgive the expression.”
Seriously, I had flashbacks of being at the phone company again. Beefy married broads cackling around a table, collectively accomplishing nothing. Playing single again, like the husbands somewhere. There was one good-looking gal in the entire place, and she was engaged to a hillbilly. Then JZ called. He has not checked his messages since last Thursday and thus knows nothing of the collision or new car. He was expecting me to show up today. He’s been out on the town with a fancy woman, so cancel all other plans. That is about how highly coordinated all of our operations have been. Called me on her phone. Too cheap to put money on his own, I’ll bet.
Last Laugh
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