Loving/hating my car

My car and I have a love-hate relationship.

There’s definitely a lot of love that I have towards my 1976 convertible beetle. Ever since seeing a movie called “The Love Bug” as a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the German masterpiece. I had an orange one in high school, which always died when I decided to do a trip longer than five miles.

I got rid of that one for a 1995 Toyota Camry, which lived until this summer. A quick search on eBay put me back behind the wheel of a beautiful Bug a few months ago. Once I installed Sirius satellite radio (which, surprisingly, stays on The Catholic Channel. Did you expect anything less?), the love affair was complete. Throw the top down, crank up “The Catholic Guy with Lino Rulli,” and you’ve got yourself a perfect day.

Oh, and the hate part? Mechanical failure usually causes me to say vile things toward my car in what has become a monthly trip to the good people of Freyaldenhoven Automotive.
There’s always something wrong with the car. First, the engine block had to be replaced. Then it was the carburetor’s turn to get a switch. Not to mention the ignition switch, some bolts that fell off that kept the car from being able to shift gears, and the windshield wipers failing during the icy weather Conway received a few weeks ago.

Oh, and a month ago, the speedometer quit working. What the hell!?

Sure, these problems were severe. Even the minor ones are infuriating. A few days ago, the car stopped idling, preferring to die when the gas pedal wasn’t pushed. This presented so many problems when you’d slow down at a stop light, as having to restart the engine every 10 seconds just to keep up with the flow of traffic is a lot more stressful than it seems.

Fortunately, there was good news. What I thought were bad spark plugs or a problem with the idling was just trash finding its way into the carburetor jet.

It was possibly the most infuriating small problem that has ever plagued a car.

As a single guy, I like to think that the relationship I have with my car helps prepare me for a romantic relationship down the road. People toss around the word love way too much these days. Heck, I just did with my column. But my car situation reminds me of a sermon from a preacher who said that “Love is not an emotion. It’s a decision.”

Are there days when I hate my car? Of course. The trip to Little Rock on Thursday to chaperone Miss Ellis’ third grade class at eStem on a trip to the library was one such instance. But there are many times when it’s just the opposite, such as a week spent missing my heater-less bucket of bolts like crazy, even when driving my mother’s superior Chevrolet Suburban with the heated seats.

And while I’d like to apologize for the future Mrs. Celtics fan for comparing her to a used Beetle, I think it’s an decent comparison.

I think the preacher was spot-on in his description of love. You may dislike the person some days, but you make the decision each day to love them.

I also think my relationship with my car somewhat mirrors the relationship I have with God. I’m not perfect, always breaking down and doing what I want, instead of what he tells me. But even though he gets angry with me, he still loves me and puts up with me. He’s like the mechanic, always fixing me up when I need work, which is more often than my car.
I may sound like a cheesy tent preacher, but it’s nice to know that even something like mechanical failure can help you focus on God’s love.

Oh, and the best thing about God’s love? It’s simple: While I might get a better car down the road, God will never trade me for a better model.