Monday, September 28, 2009

Part One: In which the Dead Body of a Car is Discovered in an Abandon Lot

-Let’s say for example, you’ve known me at some point within the past five years, you’ll know that I drive a big fat red Buick. This Buick is named Karen. (The Yeah Yeah Yeahs were in their heyday at the time of purchase.) Now what’s interesting about this car is that I’ve driven a fucking lot in this thing, major road trips and plenty of back and forths.

I’ve been away from this here because in a summer camp with 150 staff members, there’s two functioning computers. One of these hellish “computers” is a Mac, which is creepy and ugly. The glorious ebony tower in the city of Dell is where I want to go and there’s always ALWAYS a Hungarian sitting in front of it, changing the language of facebook and never NEVER changing it back to English.

So the car. I’m leaving camp the next day. Now I’ve noticed that my steering wheel is having a hard time. So LB and I get into our friend Lee’s roof and windowless Jeep. I’m sitting in the lap of a muscularly pitbull. No, he’s not sitting in my lap, I am sitting in his. I’m a writer. I know what I’m doing. After our delicious ice cream, (Thanks, Lee) I pick up a $4.00 bottle of power steering fluid. Back at camp, as I’m pulling the car out of the lot, to get to the Maintenance Shed, I suddenly can’t turn the wheel at all, it’s spinning right round, baby, right round.

Now, LB has fallen in love with a boy at camp. Being Scottish, her non-transferrable flight home the day after camp is forsaken. She’s just not going to go. Her and I are going to drive to Pittsburgh to see this boy, because after all, life throws you shit like that sometimes and you’re in your early twenties, so you are impulsive like that. Fuck you, Hollywood, this is my story.

The very last night of camp is a free for all. Free of kids, Free alcohol, free food and free sex from whomever has dredged their desperate ass through the summer without a sorry and regretful hook-up. (Some people enjoy this!) I however, end up wasted in a flower bed bawling because my new boyfriend had to leave early, and is not currently at the party. And not the cool bawlin’.

So the car. Karen. In the morning, as it turns out, the reason the wheel was spinning around and around is because when the motor and the transmission fell out, it ripped the power steering out. The motor and transmission FELL OUT. As in: on the ground. As in: a pile of junk. When the A Frame rusts through, it drops. And everything is was holding in, drops. It would be like if your skin got too thin and burst open. There’s nothing else holding your guts in, son. If that goes, you’re fucked.

That's the corner of the A-Frame on the ground.

And now that I’ve promised this epic road trip to LB, we are both fucked. And possibly stranded in the Adirondacks. Although it’s good this hadn’t happened while we were on the road because it probably would have killed us. Really. Terrible, terrible image.

PART Two: In Which Caito and LB Say “Pittsburgh or Bust!”

So do I cry? Do I freak out? After all, my second favorite thing in the world, my car, is dead. (My first favorite thing is Claudia, assholes.) No, I take it in stride. Ok, how do we get out of here? At this point, most of the counselors have left on the bus to New York City. Let’s rent a car. Ok, wait, I’m not 25 and my credit card is maxed out. Great! So our friend Graeme is driving the camp van, another pile of shit, to a dealer to trade in for a new one and he’ll give us a ride to the Albany airport. Awesome, that’s closer to Pittsburgh than here.
After the trade-in, we hop into a brand new Nissan Rogue which totally mocks the fact that I will not see a new car in a very very long time. So here we are, outside of the airport with all of our shit—I have SO much shit, on a balls hot day, with no intention of taking any flights whatsoever. My father heroically drives the two hours from Binghamton to pick us up.
You think you’re a grown-up sometimes don’t you? Oh yes, I’m so independent, making my own way until you take away my car and remind me that I’m a grand in debt. Daddy, bail me out please. I should be making my millions as a school teacher like you and mom said. Oh well, LB and I arrive in Binghamton, NY and have a night’s rest in my little house, I reunite with Claudia and tomorrow we’ll figure something out.

After many, many attempts we find a locally owned car dealership that will give us a rental despite my age and cash-only situation. Up rolls a fucking PT Cruiser. And it’s PURPLE. I’m driving a purple PT Cruiser to Pittsburgh and back in 24 hours. But we will do this because youth and determination are fuelling it. LB needs to get to this boy no matter what it takes! Or how many people are involved, for that matter!

Of course we get lost and show up late at night, but she’s there! And of course, on the way back, I think I’m doing so well, I’m going to get the car back on time all is well---HOLY SHIT IS THAT A………woodchuck. I killed it. First roadkill ever. And so now I’m crying in the PT Cruiser, saying phrases like “I didn’t mean it” and “I couldn’t swerve” twice, maybe ten times. That miserable latching on to a phrase and repeating it, sniveling all the while, syndrome.

Punks: 1. Woodchucks: 0.