Chirky

The only complaint I've ever had about our Saturn is that it's too lightweight. I was always afraid that it would be the first to get swept away in torrential rains, or that it would go skating across the highway in an ice spell and cause a 12-car pileup. Other than that, it has been paid off for the last five years, and when friends are car shopping, we're always certain to extol the benefits of owning a Saturn, going on and on and on about how faithful the car has been.

Which is why, when Roger suggested we take it to the dealership to make sure everything was in good condition, I had no qualms. Sure, we'd drop a huge chunk of cash on engine flushes and such, but if it kept the car running as well as it had been, it seemed like a small price to pay. And so we did. Then, two weeks later, the car packed full of groceries, it wouldn't start.

I called my dad, since he Knows Things About Cars, and after a series of alternately looking at my dashboard and turning on the headlights and pressing the gas pedal, we determined that my starter was out. It was 93° that day, and of all things, I was concerned whether the chocolates I had just purchased were going to melt. They were chocolate toffee almonds, after all, and a girl has to have her priorities. So I walked home. In heels. Carrying my groceries.

Walking might not seem a big deal to you New Yorkers and San Franciscans, but in Dallas we just don't do it. It doesn't matter if our destination is just around the corner – and for me it was – we drive. Which is why later that very night, Roger and I managed to get the car started and then caravan to the dealership. Obviously, the car needed to be fixed. We had places to drive, and we have been brainwashed to believe that we needed two cars to do it.

Our car fresh from the dealership service bay, we decided this weekend to drive to a friend's house. Or I should say: This weekend, we attempted to drive to a friend's house. About halfway there, I shifted from second to third gear. Except, somehow, there was no third gear. In fact, there was no longer a second gear, either. Or the first, fourth, fifth or reverse gears. They were suddenly just gone. The shaft flopped back and forth like a fish out of water. Not certain what to do, I pulled off of Oak Lawn Avenue and just kind of stared at Roger like, Huh? The clutch worked. The brake worked. The gas worked. The transmission? It did not work.

We had the car towed, and are currently waiting to hear the damage. Considering we've spent over three thousand on the Saturn in the past month, and the fact that it's been in the shop four times in the past six weeks, I think we're about to become a one car family. Which is fine, I suppose, as long as I can still drive to the grocery store.