my trusty Kent black squirrel sticker, one of the best charms a girl pushing 50 can have on her mini-van’s backside
Long ago, after giving a friend of mine a massage, I asked how she felt and she said “Are you kidding? I feel like a million bucks!” This was the way she talked.
Feeling like a million bucks is not a phrase in my vernacular, but today I took my 2000 Toyota mini-van, all 163,000 miles of it, to get its state inspection. You know it failed inspection 2 years in-a-row, right?
the “ass” of my car
My daughter fastened all the seat belts before I dropped her off at school, a good omen.
At 8:15 this morning, the second-to-the-last day of the month, I pulled into the Sunoco station on Route 9, handed over my registration and 29 dollars to the grizzled but friendly mechanic, and parked my ass in the dingy, fume-y, dusty “waiting room,” chatting up a plumber and the woman behind the cash register. With baited breath (at least mentally baited breath), I bided my time. The car passed inspection.
I usually don’t have to leave the house for whole days at a time. I don’t drive my kids to school but once or twice a season. But today, I actually got dressed. I pulled on my skinniest jeans, by which I mean, they are not skinny jeans, but they are the only pair that may make my ass appear with some semblance of youth and dignity, by which I mean, they are snug and tight with just the right amount of stretch to make sure all loose flesh is tautened into a neat package. It’s not like I’m going to turn heads, but I felt like I was turning heads as I slid on the icy lot walking away from the Sunoco waiting room back to my car. I am sure heads were turning because of my faux-skating and not my ass.
These days, the car is missing portions of its hubcaps. It has no handle on the rear passenger side door. One of the sliding doors no longer latches, making it slide closed when parked on a hill. The windows make a slow grinding sound on raising and lowering, in protest of having to work so hard. The inside backseat air vents are missing their louvered covers. Only half of the dashboard lights up. The heating makes a whistling sound when it’s on full blast. But Fucking A. My husband presented me with this car in July, 2000, just weeks before we relocated our entire life to Western Massachusetts.
It’s falling apart, it doesn’t get the best mileage. It’s beaten and banged and bruised. But it’s mine. I drove away from the Sunoco feeling like a million bucks.
my min-van, not a metaphor for my bodily state or anything
twinklysparkles 
Your minivan sounds a bit like me. Lots of wear but still running.
You are so fabulous, JG!
Though I was going for humor, as I wrote this I realized that my body is in WAY better shape than my mini-van’s exterior/interior. And if I stick with the metaphor, the engine of the mini-van is fine as ever, meaning that my motor is fine, too.
Unlike a car, though, I am more powerful the older I get and power is a catalyst for EVERYTHING. I bet this is true for you, too. At least that’s the sense I get.
Miss those MA inspections…. You can drive anything that runs here in Indiana.
Hi, Mary!
I don’t quite remember what they did to our cars in Ohio. Inspections were kind of new. I only remember taking my car once or twice before we moved.
I have a faulty indicator light on my dash—it comes and goes on on a whim. Nothing is wrong with my exhaust system, but my car failed a couple of years ago because of the check engine light and I had to shell out big bucks until everything they repaired made it stop coming on. BUT, lo and behold, within a week or so, it was on again. That’s when I started to do a little more research and woe to me who hadn’t been suspicious before.
I found out that the check engine lights are very touchy in Toyota Siennas of my model’s vintage. SO, that becomes a real rip-off. A service station will take more and more money to get the light off, when actually, in my case, the mechanism controlling the light was what was broken. I am NEVER going back to Ren’s Mobil in downtown Amherst. They were so willing to rip me off and the inspection stations really just look at the surface and have no way to determine if an indicator is faulty.
So, for better or worse, Indiana may have cars causing more pollution, but maybe some of your residents aren’t getting fleeced. I am not sure what the best approach is.
I hope you have another black squirrel sticker for your next car! Someone very special gave me the same sticker and I’d hate to have to give it back 🙂 My sticker, on its original paper, adorns my dresser mirror because I change cars too damn often! Correction: my husband changes cars and I get the latest hand-me down! Anyway, I enjoyed reading your blog. Keep ’em coming Kath!
I think I have one tucked away for just such an occasion! I know where to get them if I don’t!
I wish I could get a brand new car—something little and fuel-efficient. My van feels so indulgent when Paul is away and it’s the only thing to take around town. His car is much better for short trips.
MONEY MONEY MONEY!
Thanks for stopping by, Sharon. Love right back to you! Kath