Recently, I bought a new car.
Before November 28th of this year, I had never owned a new car. I have been fortunate enough in my life to own newer cars. I learned to drive, and subsequently inherited a 1995 Dodge Intrepid, that somehow ended up with the nickname “The Epoch,” like the time ship in Chrono Trigger. It became a bit of a tradition for me to name a car once I had figured out its personality, and when my ex-wife and I decided to buy her a car in 2008, it was no exception.
Our first, and only, possession as a married couple was a 2005 Jeep Liberty Limited Edition 4×4. She named it Stella. Now, my ex thought she was naming this particular Liberty with a name that implied a reliability and safety, like a Grandmother. It is my opinion that this Stella took much more after her namesake from A Streetcar named Desire, and slowly but steadily descended into worse and worse condition until finally, in a moment of pure fury, and much like Marlon Brando, I was kneeling in the streets screaming “STEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLAAAAAA!” in a fit of pure, unadulterated frustration.
You would be frustrated, too, if you’re frickin’ wheel fell off!
Yes, that’s right. Driving back from Springfield for a nice little get away, we’re about 2/3rds of the way home and bouncy, bouncy, bouncy my tire passes us down the road and then WHAM! I’m riding on a (fortunately placed) bracket attached to the rear frame of my car.
All five lug bolts broke.
Now, over the course of Stella’s life with me, she has had to have her water pump replaced, her entire engine was found to be a lemon and THANK GOD that was covered by warranty, and she had eaten tail-light bulbs like they were candy. All of this on top of a 10% interest rate and an average of about 13 miles per gallon made me hate her. I hated her with the passion of a million violet dwarf stars suddenly going supernova and taking out all of the universe in a reverse big bang. I’m still convinced that feeling was mutual.
After much freaking on my part, and some redneck shaman witchdoctory on the part of my roommate (no, not that one, the other one), we managed to get her wheel back on along side the highway and drove her home, where I proceeded to cackle like a maniacal madman with the glee that I was finally getting rid of her.
Enter, the 2011 Ford Focus
Sleek, sexy, shiny, and best of all, economical, my new car has just about everything I wanted in a new car. Averaging two-three times the gas mileage of Stella, with about 50x the amount of fun to drive, this car fits me perfectly in my post-divorced life.
Maybe the new still hasn’t worn off, and given time I will come to find problems with the Focus, but I haven’t found one yet. Before Stella, I drove a 2003 Ford Ranger, which I drove the piss out of. I didn’t even maintain that thing and it ran like a champion. I’ve never had a problem with a Ford product, and siting in the driver’s seat of the new hotness just feels right.
She doesn’t have a name yet. I’m not sure I’ve really gotten a feel for her personality yet. I’m open to suggestions, though. I’m not sure if she needs a nice lady’s name, or if she might be more of a ship. Any ideas? And, no, I’m not naming her Desiree.