What is it with me and my cars? It seems like my vehicles are always choosing hellacious times to self-destruct and leave me stranded. Within the past three years, My vehicle has:
-- Decided to let its water pump go out while driving over the Sierras on the way to the Rose Bowl just before Y2K.
-- Started smoking from the steering column as I helped deliver soda to a friend's wedding reception, just as guests were about to arrive, meaning I had to hurriedly walk about 10 blocks in humid Bay Area heat to get help.
-- Suddenly decided not start, marooning me three blocks away from home -- when I was not supposed to walk following foot surgery.
The first two incidents happened in my demonic 1990 Chevy Corsica. That car, as I have discussed in this space before, hated me. I am convinced that it was possessed. How else can one explain a steering column that starts smoking at the worst possible time -- the cause of which was never found by mechanics? Anyway, I some how convinced the Saturn dealership down here to take it off my hands for a few bucks as a trade-in toward a loaded 1998 Saturn, in which the latest incident happened.
The backstory: I had my foot operated on last Thursday, when my left big toenail and its root was removed. It was the culmination of a series of events that started in 1993, when a very large and incredibly heavy table fell on that foot. The damage resulted in the toenail falling off; it grew back in funny (not funny ha-ha, but funny OUCH). It was surgically removed, and the damn thing grew in funny again, forcing its permanent removal after I kept putting it off for years.
***WARNING! WINCE-INDUCING ANECDOTE COMING! WARNING!***
The outpatient surgery went amazingly well, but this horrific conversation did take place between the podiatrist and me as he worked on my numb toe:
Me: Hey, what's that metal scraping sound?
Doctor: Um, sometimes, when people ask me that and I tell them, they wish I hadn't told them.
Me: Well ... that's OK. Go ahead and tell me.
Doctor: Well, you see, the nail's root goes all the way down to the bone, and I making sure that all of the root is removed ...
He was scraping on my toe bone with a large metal implement as I sat there awake. If you are wincing as you read this, imagine how I felt laying there as it happened.
I somehow managed to not totally freak out or faint. On Saturday -- feeling good, all things considering -- I went to the doctor as scheduled to have the dressing on my toe changed. It looked good, and I decided to stop at Starbucks for a celebratory vanilla latte and a cherry-almond scone.
I hobbled in, got the latte and the scone, and hobbled back to the new-to-me Saturn.
And the damn thing wouldn't start. It would only make that dead-battery clicking noise at me.
I tried three times to start the car, stunned at the fact that it had apparently learned a lesson from the Corsica with its break-down timing. I was not supposed to be walking on this foot; I was supposed to be resting it and keeping it elevated.
Since I only live three blocks away from that Starbucks, I decided to hobble home and call a friend who lives nearby for assistance (I didn't have his number with me). I got home, half cussing, half laughing at the automobile Murphy's Law that I seem to unintentionally live my life under. The toe, amazingly, felt OK.
The friend -- you guessed it -- was not home. Therefore, I called AAA, and hobbled the three blocks back to my dead Saturn.
A tow truck ride, $220 and five hours at the Saturn dealership later (during which I sat there, my foot propped up on a chair, with people walking by looking at me as if I were a diseased freak), all was well. It turns out my car's battery, for no good reason, picked that time to leak acid all over a battery cable.
I am now thinking of going to a voodoo witch doctor to see if he/she/it can do anything to turn my car luck around. I finally got my toe fixed; now, it's time to fix the car curse.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who lives a life that serves as evidence that God has a weird sense of humor. Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays, and a column archive may be viewed at www.jimmyboegle.com.