C is for Cars (and the troubles associated therewith)

Today I got into the car. I closed the door, turned the key, and started it. I lowered the windows a bit, due to the stifling heat and generally oppressive mugginess in the tin box of the cabin, and turned up the fan to get a bit of a draft.

Then I turned the fan up another notch. And another. And then all the way up.

I pushed empty cup-holder into its little nest so I could actually see the dials. Yes, it was turned up to 4. Yes, the directional selection was on "Vent" (though it had a little picture, not the word). No, no air was coming out of the aforementioned vent.

The "blower motor" (a term which seems far too simplistic for a car part) has blown again, but not in the way it is intended to do. This is the second time for this vehicle that I will need a replacement on that particular part. I'm not impressed. That means no regular fannage, and no air-conditioning. Not only does it come at a hot, muggy time of year (and driving on the highway to work with the windows down is not a pleasant task, to be honest -- in town, fine; highway speeds, not so much for me), but also at a ridiculously busy time of year. Now I have to figure out when I can get it in to be fixed.

You may or may not know that I seem to have a history of car troubles, though not usually of a mechanical nature. No, I seem to be cursed with a magnetic car which attracts damage. Allow me to share some highlights from the past several years.

Back in the day when I had a white Taurus, some kids at Hallowe'en decided to squirt it with blue paint. Permananent paint. I just accepted that there would be speckles and moved on.

When that car died, I got a wee Dodge Colt (made by Mitsubishi, by the way, and identical in every way -- except the Dodge symbol -- to an Eagle Summit at the time, something I discovered one day when I returned to my car after a rousing stint as a shopper at an appropriately-named drug mart to find one parked immediately beside me). The first weekend I had it, someone keyed its side while it was parked in Niagara-on-the-Lake. It was later backed into by a dear friend of mine, who shall remain nameless (though her name does begin with a B and ends with -etsy).

My next car was an old Ford Tempo. Sadly, this car was parked on the road by a friend's house (I won't say whose house it was, except to say that I've already mentioned her once in this post, though not by name) and someone across the street backed into it, crushing the front fender area so badly I couldn't open the driver's door.

Then I got my current vehicle and, upon parking it in what is apparently a terribly accident-prone neighbourhood, it was hit again, by DIFFERENT neighbours, destroying my driver's door. It has been scratched and dinged at every turn, though my "favourite" ding occurred on the aforementioned door less than 48 hours after it had been replaced. Of course, this car has also had a rock thrown through its window, so that young Hallowe'ening hoodlums could get at their tempting prize ... a bag of paperwork from work (not the laptop they presumably thought was sitting on the seat).

So there you have it. A long and sad history of mishaps.