Having a car is like being in a doomed relationship. At first it feels new and exciting, even if it isn't the best looking car you ever driven. You're not afraid to kick it into high gear and be a little reckless. You brag about it to anyone who'll listen.
"Hey have you seen my new car? Oh it's really great, not a ton of miles on it. It's in really good shape."
You see other cars, nicer cars, younger cars, but they don't really strike you like the one you've got.
Then, almost out of nowhere, like in that doomed relationship, the car starts giving you trouble. The problems start small. You notice it's getting a little louder. You pretend not to notice but your friends and family start to bring it up. You try to explain it away. You say it's not as big a problem as it seems. It's not that loud. It'll pass. It just needs to work some things out.
But the problems persist and the car gives you problems you can no longer ignore. Suddenly it's very moody. It stops and goes when it wants. You buy all kinds of new things for it but nothing seems to help. You buy it new brake shoes, but it remains thankless. You offer to do some extensive work on its undercarriage but that doesn't help. By this point everyone you know notices the car is suddenly older looking and beat up. It no longer has that new car smell. The relationship is beyond repair.
Finally it comes to a breaking point. You don't want to just dump the car and move onto a new one. The car has begun to treat you so bad that now you've reached the point you'll try anything. Good thoughts come with more ominous tones. You offer to let someone else work on the car, only for a little while, just to see if it helps any. But when you get the car back from the other guy it seems worse off than when you left it. The car now won't do anything for you. The relationship has officially spoiled. But how do you end it?
You make a phone call to a friend.
"Hey listen, man, I need you to do me a favor and never mention it after it's done."
"Okay, what's the problem?"
"I need to...um...get rid of something"
"Oh, no, Jaime, you mean your car?"
"Shhhh, yes but let's just call it 'my wife' from here on out. I don't want anyone who might listen to us to get the wrong impression"
"I don't know, man, I've never done anything like that before. I don't know if I could go through with it."
"Hey, don't get worked up. It's fine, I'll split the insurance money with you 50/50. Just get rid of it for me."
"Okay, well how do you want it done?"
"Well 'my wife's' been so bad to me I'd just rather you beat her to death with a baseball bat, but you can't do that. You have to make it look like an accident. These insurance guys are pretty ruthless when it comes to the actual payout."
"Alright, you have to give me a week or so to work up the courage."
"Alright, but hurry up. If it catches wind that something's up it'll stop running before we ever get the chance to take it out."
It's done. Your friend comes to get the car under some weak false pretense. You kick it's tires one last time. And watch them go on down the road. You get a little sad. You reflect on the good times, you cry a little. At social gatherings you tell everyone you got in an accident and totalled it. But you know the truth. The car's dead on the side of some back road. But you'll never tell anyone.
I love my car. My 1997 Mercury Sable. I love it but it's almost time...to kill it.
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