OMG ... This is why I don't own a car

Once upon a time, I used to have computer issues. I would go and stand near a computer and it would suddenly do crazy things that no one else could get it to do. Honest. It was weird. It wasn't a phobia; I was not intimidated by computers--but perhaps in my enthusiasm I made them a little too crazy. I don't know.

I started to jokingly remark that I must have had some kind of personal magnetism that affected the secret inner workings of my computers. Obviously, however, that "magnetism," if that's what it was, has faded over the years (along with many other of my favorable personal traits). I don't have too many occasions anymore to blame my magnetism for much of anything.

Now, I am starting to wonder if there is some kind of black cloud hanging over my head when it comes to vehicles. This has been a particularly frustrating car-week.

As I've mentioned before here, I no longer own a vehicle. After leasing six cars in 13 years, I came to the end of my last lease in May 2008 and walked away from a car payment. At first, I thought it was probably temporary, but it has become a permanent, or at least semi-permanent, situation and I am usually quite content with this turn of events. Occasionally I need to borrow a car to carry out an errand, but most of the time I just walk, or go along for the ride. It's OK.

Today, I had a reason to need a vehicle. David is gone for the weekend, so I got up early to take him to work so I could drive his car. I need to interject here that I have a love-hate relationship with his 1994 Buick Park Avenue. It's a great, comfortable car to ride in. I swear it has more room in the back seat than your typical station wagon. But when I drive it, I feel like a little old lady who can barely see over the dashboard. And, it has a quirky mechanical problem that makes it inexplicably refuse to start periodically.

After dealing with this for at least a year, David still hasn't figured out what is wrong or how to remedy the problem, other than telling me to jump on the back bumper several times and then it will "probably" start. Call me crazy, but for some reason, I don't feel like doing that. So, rather than deal with this, I usually choose not to drive his car. But it seemed the most reasonable solution today, so I decided to take a chance.

Wrong answer. After driving the car back from Ann Arbor, out to work at my girlfriend's garage sale, and then into town to pick up some lunch, the Buick simply wouldn't start. I walked home with my lunch (I have been known to state emphatically that I won't drive the Buick anywhere I can't walk home from, and I feel that has now been validated) and waited about 45 minutes before heading back to try again. No luck.

I called Stuart. He didn't answer so I sat in the car and read my mail for a while. I tried again, but it still wouldn't start. This time I got hold of Stu, and he walked up to meet me. After jumping on the back bumper for me (it must be a guy thing, I swear), it still wouldn't start. So he tried starting it. Being a good mom and hopefully a good sport as well, I obligingly jiggled the front bumper for good measure. Again, nothing.

I decided to leave the car and walked home to sort things out. Now, if you are a strictly-by-the-book or law-enforcement type person, please cover your ears, say "la la la la la la la la laa," and skip to the next paragraph. I decided to take the improperly-licensed but semi-mechanically sound Taurus that has been sitting in our driveway for sale for a month or so, back out to the garage sale. I took back streets and studiously made sure to obey all traffic laws, so as not to draw any attention to myself.

Of course, this still left the Buick parked on Main Street. Fortunately I did not get a ticket for being parked more than two hours in the business district. But when I got home from the garage sale--cold, wind-blown, and tired--I trekked back to see if the Old Grey Mare (sing the rest of the song to get the full implication) felt like starting now. Fortunately, she did. I drove her the two blocks home and parked in our driveway. There she will stay for the remainder of the weekend.

Meanwhile, I needed to drive to Chelsea this evening to help my mom finish up her tax preparation, which was inadvertently neglected during her recent move. Since I wouldn't take the Buick, and was unwilling to risk legal action with the Taurus, I borrowed Arianne's van when she got home from work. I got in, looked around, and there were no keys. Rather than have her turn around and come back, I just grabbed the extra key to her van (the one she leaves here in case she misplaces both of her other keys) and headed off.

I had a nice dinner and chat with Mom and we discussed what we'd need to do to get her taxes filed on time. I got ready to head home and walked to the van with my key in hand. The door would not unlock. WTF? At first, I thought I was just being obtuse or had the key in backwards or something. But no. I tried every door with that key, every which way, and it didn't work. Evidently, a "spare" key works fine in the ignition, but it needs a keypad to open the door. I do not understand why this happens (What if you lock your key-pad in the car? What if your battery dies while your car is locked?), but I can now attest that it does. Stupid car.

I go back to Mom, who had been watching me from her upstairs window, and I'm soon asking to borrow my fourth car in one day. I drive Mom's car home, fortunately without incident (although the check-engine light mysteriously blinked on when I was part way home. The car has just this week rolled over 5,000 miles. So I chose to ignore it. Don't tell Mom.) Despite my extra-cautious driving, I was seriously terrified that at any moment a deer might decide to leap into my path, or that someone would pull out in front of me for no apparent reason, or some other freak accident would top off my vehicular curse-day...

You see, I don't want a car. What kind of havoc could I wreak if I actually did own a car? That has to be way more trouble than any computer I've ever met.