The Car Was Evil!

In the blog story titled, Hot-Diggity Hot Rods, I told you about my first new car; a 1969 Oldsmobile 442. I loved that car, and for almost three years it was my pride and joy; then it got possessed by a demon and became pure evil. Eventually, I hated that car!

Back in those days, most new cars came with a manufacturer’s warranty on the main mechanical parts of the car. The typical warranty was valid for three years, or forty-thousand miles; whichever came first. I sensed a devious plot by car makers, when my 442 hit the 40,001 mile mark. The car commenced to falling apart, and the bad news was I wasn’t through paying for it.

I’m telling you folks, it seemed like after the odometer rolled to 40,001, the car hissed at me and proceeded to torment me. Actually, it did hiss at me; as the first problem, and the most persistent problem, was overheating. It turned out it was caused by a leaky head gasket, but it took me awhile to figure that out. I couldn’t afford to take the car to a mechanic, so I tried all the “remedies” before finally “discovering” the source of the problem.

It all began one day when I pulled into a grocery store parking lot, and the car did this knocking, pinging, clattering thing, before finally dying. I climbed out, popped the hood, and the car informed me I had now entered no-warranty hell; it did so by exclaiming quite loudly, “HIIIIIIZZZZZZZZZ!” Looking back, I translate that hizz into “his”, as in the car was informing me it was now possessed by, and owned by, Satan.

My first thought was to trade the dang car in, thereby ridding myself of the evil machine. That Saturday, I drove into town and pulled up to the front door of the local Ford dealership. I was hoping Fords were not evil like my GM product had proven to be; at least, maybe not as evil.

I went in and talked to the salesman, telling him what a fine trade in I had, but leaving out all the information about overheating and other minor maladies. He said we should go take a look at this fine machine, and came around from behind the desk. We walked to the front door, the salesman opened it, and when he did—I’m not kidding you, right at the precise moment he opened the door—the car screamed at us.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” it shrilled. I stood there in the doorway, staring at the screaming Oldsmobile, and watched as steam began to roll from the grill; I swear the grill was grinning, and one of the headlights winked at me. The salesman was shouting something from behind me, but I couldn’t hear him. It didn’t matter; my cover was blown. The car from hell was not going to allow me to trade it in.

Like I said, I eventually diagnosed the problem, and actually changed the head gasket myself. (I’ll tell you about that little fiasco later.)

I eventually was able to trade the car for a new pickup. I almost felt guilty thinking someone else would now be tormented by the cursed car.

I ain’t lying, folks; the car was evil!

2 Comments »

  1. Sherry Mashburn said

    Maybe it wasn’t evil . . . maybe it loved you, too, and was feeling abadoned

RSS feed for comments on this post · TrackBack URI

Please leave a comment! We love hearing from you!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: