Auto (But Not Erotic).

As I post this next paragraph, I am hoping that someday I will look back on this situation and it will all seem funny.
Cars are a lot like men for me. I have had a lot of shitty cars in my life, and I have loved them all despite (because of?) their quirks, and I have at least one story to tell about each of them. Also, I have learned something new from every one, whether it was how to change a tire (1979 Chevy Malibu, my first car, in which I blew two tires at high speeds); how to parallel park (I already knew how, but I perfected this skill in my 1985 Oldsmobile Delta 88, because it was huge and I lived in the city at the time); how to break in using a coat hanger (also the Olds); how to change the oil (I was so broke when I had my 1982 Carolla, which my friend Dave gave to me out of the kindness of his heart, that I couldn't afford to have it done professionally. From this experience I also learned the value of having it done professionally); and finally, how to change spark plugs (1989 Mercury Grand Marquis, purchased for 25 cents from a neighbor, also out of the kindness of his heart).

My current car is a '96 Carolla. It is by far the nicest car I have ever owned, despite some bumps and bruises and only one and a half functioning speakers (most likely thanks to my nephew, who drove this car as a teenager whenever his mom would let him). It doesn't have power windows or locks or cruise control, but it does have air-conditioning, a clean interior (aside from the dog hair, I mean), it gets fantastic gas mileage, and it runs and runs and runs. It has not required a lot in the way of repairs, and I have put nearly a hundred thousand miles on it since I got it. This car has taken us back and forth between Chicago and Athens countless times in all weather. It has been to Texas and Mississippi and Tennessee and North and South Carolina, as well as Alabama, Louisiana, and of course every corner of Georgia. It stood by me through prolonged periods without money and oil changes, has never (knock wood) run out of gas no matter how far I pushed it, and it got me all the way to chilly Vermont after just having returned from several hot days in New Orleans without complaint.
And now- well, now it seems that we may have to part ways. Had we stayed in Georgia, this car would probably have stayed with me for several more years. But within the first week of our arrival, I bumped an already bruised quarter panel while backing out of our new driveway and a bolt that was barely hanging on finally gave. So now whenever I turn right the tire scrapes, just a little, on the plastic flap inside the wheel well. Also, the windshield is cracked. It has been for several months, thanks to a tiny rock flying off the back of a truck one day on 316, but it has now spiderwebbed to the point that it really needs to be replaced. Also, there is the issue of the tires. I would have needed new ones this year (or early next) anyway, but Vermont is a whole new ballgame. I am going to need a separate set of tires just to get up the hill to my house this winter. I have never required them before, but apparently, snow tires are expensive. So that's two sets. And now, the nail in the proverbial coffin, my gas tank is leaking. The mechanic said that it is spliiting at the seam. It isn't dangerous, but unless I keep it under half a tank, it drips. And that's bad for the environment, and it's wasteful, and it smells bad. So I'm keeping it under half a tank.
The hitch is that I work forty miles away, three days a week. And even with my good mileage, that means I have to stop for gas a lot. And it is getting on my nerves. Between our house and my job there are long, long stretches of interstate (not "car" long, but definitely "walking down the side of the interstate with a gas can in your hand" long) without towns or exits. In the past week, I have somehow managed to find myself on these stretches of road no less than three times with a nearly empty tank. This is not a good feeling. Usually I just turn up the radio and sing out loud to distract myself, since I know damn well that whether or not I worry about it I'm either gonna make it to the next exit or not.
So far I have had good luck. But my luck will not hold out forever. I haven't been like this for a long time. I used to fill the car up every week or ten days no matter how much gas was in it. Just easier to do it when you have time and it's not raining and whatever. But now I don't have a choice. And soon I'm going to have to give that car up. A new gas tank, with labor, costs about a third of what the car is worth. And that doesn't take into consideration the windshield or the tires. Fuuuuuck. Man I hate break-ups. Oh well, at least i still have my marriage.
I'm hoping that I get the job I'm interviewing for on Tuesday, so I can give two weeks' notice to the Local Health Food Store on Wednesday and only have to make that drive six more times. Walking to work would be a very huge and welcome change. Do cross your fingers, okay?