My father had a car that hated me.
I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's because I named her Constance, because she was constancely in the driveway. Maybe she knew I wasn't in love with her sister.
When I was looking to buy a car, my father went out looking with me. I was young, about 19 years old, and I wanted something small that would get me from point A to point B. I had very limited funds, so I was realistic about what I was going to end up with. I'm not quite sure what happened, but my dad ended up buying a new car, and I was the lucky one who got to buy his old car.
My dad's old car (or my first car, if you want to phrase it that way) was a brown 1982 Plymouth Gran Fury. Here's a picture.
Yep, you're right. It wasn't small.
It wasn't fast, either. I think that big ol' heavy car only had a 4 cylinder engine! It looked like the trooper cars of the day. It was brown. I was a 19-year-old girl, driving what we perhaps not so lovingly dubbed the Nerdmobile. I'm pretty sure it only had an AM radio when I got it, too. No A/C, unless you count the 4/55 kind. And it was brown. It did get me from point A to point B, though, however much I didn't like that car.
My mom, dad, and a friend of mine drove to a wedding out of town. I was driving Constance home from said wedding, and all of a sudden, thumpthumpthumpthumpbangbangbang! The car is making some funny funny noises. As luck would have it, I was coming up on a service area, so I pulled in. We can't figure out what's wrong, and we're closer to where we started than we are to home, so I go back, after a quick phone call explaining what happened.
A mechanic takes a look, and can't find anything wrong with the car. Really, what it felt like was that the brakes locked up.
Time passes, and my dad drives less and less (hence Constance sitting in the driveway). When we would fly in from Chicago, we didn't rent a car because my dad always let us use his. It was one of those times that the infamous tie rod story happened.
We have some people with us, and we're going out. We're driving down the highway, and all of a sudden I hear thumpthumpthumpthumpbangbangbang! I know what that sound is, I know how the car feels when it's happening, after all, I just went through it a couple of years before. My husband says, “You'd better pull over, I think that's the tie rod.”
“It's not the tie rod. There's nothing wrong except the car hates me, and doesn't want me to drive it.”
“I'm pretty sure it's the tie rod.”
“It's really not the tie rod. I had the same problem a couple of years ago while I was driving home, and it's not the tie rod.”
“I had a car make the same noise, and it turned out to be a tie rod.”
“No, it's not the tie rod.”
And back and forth and on and on about the tie rod until I finally had enough and lost my temper. “IT'S NOT THE BLANKING TIE ROD!!!”
Luckily, we arrived at out destination, and a drink helped smooth things over. Not that we were fighting, exactly, more like bickering.
My dad's car got one more haha. My mom, my husband, and I are on the way to the cemetery where my dad is being laid to rest, and all of a sudden, thumpthumpthumpthumpbangbangbang! Except this time, the car stalls. It won't restart, either. Luckily, one of my dad's friends was behind us, recognized the car, followed me into the parking lot where I managed to get her, and gave us a ride to the cemetery. On the way home, we stop to check the car, and doesn't she start right up?
That was roughly 20 years ago, give or take a few years, and every so often, we trot out the tie rod story (in good fun, of course) because it was so funny.
So yesterday, the Buffalo Bills named their starting quarterback.
TYROD TAYLOR.
Now it really IS the Tyrod, but not the tie rod.
My poor husband can never escape that story.
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