Open Letter to My Car

September 29, 2005

Dear car,

No. Just — no.

We’ve been through this before. We both know that you’re just begging for attention. I see that little Service Engine Soon light — again — but I’ve had it. I’m ignoring it. Really, I’m serious this time.

Look, it’s not like we don’t see each other every day. We spend quality time together on the way to work — weaving through traffic, flipping off pedestrians, listening to our CDs. Remember how we used to sing ‘Karma Chameleon‘ at the top of our pistons, with our windows down and the wind wafting through our grills? Oh, those were good times.

But that was before you started with the nagging. Seems like every time I turn around, it’s Service Engine Soon. After a nice weekend jaunt — Service Engine Soon. On the way to the grocery store — Service Engine Soon. Coming home from the office — Service Engine Soon. Hey! I’ve been at work for hours, dammit. Why don’t you ‘Service Me Soon‘, for once? Service this.

Okay, okay — I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Still — I’ve put up with a lot, over the years. And you’re not the easiest vehicle to live with, you know. But I’ve never said a word when your Gas Tank Empty light comes on. Like, every fricking week. But do I complain? No. I open your flap, and I fill you up. Hey, I’m not being crass — that’s what you asked for, isn’t it?

See, this is just what I’m talking about. I can never tell what you want. I turn on your lights for you at night, then you beep at me if I forget to turn them off. You howl and flash if I don’t strap myself in — but you won’t let me go unless I take the seat belt off. I’m tired of the mixed signals.

And now again with the Service Engine Soon. At first, I thought you turned that on for me. I was genuinely concerned. I wanted us to be together always, and I thought you were on board. Until the first time that light came on — and I saw that look in your headlights when the mechanic dug in. Oh, don’t try and hide it; it was as clear as the tailpipe under your bumper. How do you think that made me feel, seeing another man’s greasy wrench under your hood? I have eyes, you know.

So, you know what? Forget it. If you’re not going to put any effort into this relationship, then neither am I. I don’t care if your muffler falls off, and your tranny goes to hell. I’m not taking you to the garage. Oh, I’ll feed you — I’m not an animal, for crissakes — but you can forget about that ‘other man’. You’re my car, dammit — and if I can’t have you, then no one will. I’ll be the only man behind your wheel, baby.

There, now, don’t you feel better? Me, too. Tomorrow, we’ll go for a nice ride to the office. Won’t that be nice? Now pucker up those spark plugs; let’s kiss and make up.

Love and hugs and STP motor oil,

Charlie