BUY MY JUNK CAR

 

I had bought the Beige Beast from my ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend, right before my transition from his current to his ex.  It was complicated.  She had just bought a racing green Volvo and her taupe Dodge Dart was sitting idle and so I bought it, in a fit of beggars-can’t-be-choosers.  I would’ve hated the Beige Beast if it had been a Ferrari, but it wasn’t; it was just a boring tan Dart that had seen better days.  So had I, and the two of us drove off into infamy.

The Beast did the best it could.  It was old, and somewhere along the line the gas cap had been lost and never replaced.  The seats were moldy and the paint was chipped and it leaked oil like a sieve and needless to say I hated that car a whole lot.  It saw me through two moves and a career transition, and two years later it was taking up valuable real estate in my new apartment’s parking lot.  I had recently bought a swift grey Cutlass that I was very happy with, and the note left on the Beast’s windshield from management didn’t come as a surprise.  “You can keep parking this heap here if you want,” the note sort of said, “but be prepared to start paying for the priviledge.  Thanks!”  It was time to take steps.

 

I had seen the signs around for selling your junk car and I figured this was my best bet.  Since it would have been bad form to shove the Beast into a lake, selling it to a junk dealer seemed a good option.  I started making calls.

 

I spoke to a junk car dealer who offered me $25 for the Beast’s carcass and I gratefully took him up on it.  Wow, I might actually pick up some cash on this deal?  Fantastic.  The agreement was reached and the junk car dealer was due that afternoon.

 

Before the junker arrived I went out for one last look at the Beast and to kick its’ threadbare tires one more time, and I found another, more pointed note from property management on the windshield.  “We’re not kidding, we’re going to fine you for having this heap in our parking lot, and today is the last day we’re planning on being tolerant with you and your unsightly pile of junk.  Thanks!”

 

By the time the junk car guy arrived with his tow truck, I was ready to see the last of the Beast.  He walked around it, peered into the windows, and then started making noises about not having brought any cash with him and was I sure I wouldn’t just hand the title over?  I panicked.  I really had to get rid of the Beast and with the deadline staring me in the face I let the junker con me.

 

He managed to keep a straight face until he was actually driving away with the Beast trailing behind but then I watched him cackling like a maniac as he waved goodbye.  Hmmm.  Served me right for being naive.

 

If I had to do it over again I’d have held the junk car guy to his agreement with me and gotten my $25 out of him; not because the money was so important but because of the principle of the thing.  The Beast from beginning to end had served as a symbol of a failure for me and even at the very end the Beast had the last word.  Well, the Beast and the junk car guy.

 

Since then I haven’t let desperation tempt me into making a bad choice, and I keep a wary eye on junk car dealers.