Cynically Optimistic

This week, while dealing with preparing to presnet lab meeting, I had to deal with automotive issues. I had the oil changed and supposedly the fluids were topped up and all that jazz. Well, it starts grumbling and idling slow and then on Monday the transmission sounds like I'm driving without a clutch. My V6 automatic is running at 4000+ RPMs and is going 20 MPH. So my dad, the car guru, suggests that I check the transmission fluid level. Bingo! Empty. I head out to get more, and try to fill it up in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I actually had a hard time finding where to fill it, so I actually looked it up in the owners manual. Who knew you had to pour it down the tiny dipstick tube?! In following the "directions" I engage the parking break, which doesn't engage quite right, but I don't think much of it. I pour in some transmission fluid and hope all will be well, jump back in the car and hope for the best.

Then I try to release the parking brake, and nothing happens. So I do what any self-respecting 14 year old girl does with car problems. I call my daddy - again. His advice, "Hit it with a wrench and spray it with WD-40". Seriously, I already thought of that. I lay there, in the cold, salty parking lot of Wal-Mart beating on my parking brake mechanism with a pair of pliers. I am now my car's bitch.

This is the point where I decide it's time to get a new car. My car is a 1989 Grand Prix. It's been good to me, but I just can't deal with it anymore.

I end up driving to the mechanic with the parking brake partially engaged. I'm sure it liked that. Someone from work graciously came and picked me up. Apparently the whole mechanism is horked, but they managed to release the brake and I'll need a new parking brake cable which will they charge me $160 to install. Or I can just opt to never use my parking brake (lest I fancy leaving my car parked permanantly).