I’m having car troubles. Not the mechanical variety - I wish! No, it’s much more complicated than that. More of a relationship thing. I’ll try and explain.
It’s a nice car, blue and quite attractive. You could call it a head turner - the women-folk definitely go for it. And I loved it too to begin with. It was like no other car I’d ever had. Great personality, great fun. And reliable too - or so I thought. But I guess the signs were there at the very beginning. I just chose to ignore them.
“It’s okay, It’ll do that,” She said. "It won’t let the battery go flat.”
I didn’t realise it at the time, but that was a taste of things to come. Just the first of a long line of things the car wouldn’t let happen. Control freakery is perhaps too strong a term, but that’s the way it began to feel. It could turn itself off too when it wasn’t needed, at a junction or something. Well not quite all of itself. The bit that did the thinking stayed on, ready to turn everything else back on the instant it decided it was time to go. At first it was nice to sit back and let it take the decisions. It made me feel quite pampered. Quite special. What with that and the uphill assist. But it didn’t take long before I felt a nagging doubt at the back of my mind, and I knew something wasn’t right.
Perhaps I wasn’t strong enough at the beginning. Perhaps I should have made more of an effort to establish some ground rules, draw some lines not to be crossed. But, to be honest, I was besotted with its intelligence and pro-activity, something I’d never seen in a car. So different from all those VWs I’d had before. I was mesmerised by the way it directed power to all four wheels entirely at its own discretion. Tickled pink by the delightful little beeps it made to stop me backing into things.
So I let it take charge of the headlamps and windscreen wipers - what the hell, I’d got more important things to think about. And after a few months of playing around with the endless combinations of temperature and fan settings I surrendered control of the heating system too, turning it permanently to automatic. That was just a few weeks before our first big argument.
I’d already made a lot of concessions. I was fine with the idea of not changing the tyres if they got punctured. Apparently it didn’t need me to do that because it could just keep going (I mean - what kind of a car doesn’t even need its tyres to be inflated for God's sake?!) And I’d said I was okay with the idea of it handling its own servicing. I’d just been told to sit in the waiting room while the car told the mechanics what to do - apparently via its key fob! I’d offered to pay, but was told the car had settled it - ‘service package' or something. When we got outside I over reacted, and said it could just flipping well drive itself home, I’d get the bus. But it seemed sorry, and acted like it couldn’t do it without me, so we went home together. In silence.
Looking back I think that was when our relationship really began to break down. I knew my wife liked the car - she’d never hidden the fact. But I noticed that she was swapping it for hers more and more often. One evening I watched her returning from work from the bathroom window. I’m not kidding, she was sitting in it for ages before getting out. I mentioned it and she said she didn’t know how to unlock the doors. (That was another of its tricks - locking the doors when it set off, then leaving you to figure out how the hell to get out when you stopped). But I think there was something more playful going on. You see I don’t think she wanted it to let her out. It was around that time I noticed the low level lights in the foot wells had changed from green, to pink. And I hadn’t done it.
But the worst thing was that she always seemed to be the one that filled it up. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had it in a petrol station. And that was what hurt me most. I really needed that intimacy, we had definitely grown distant.
And then it came to a head. It was a Monday night in December at Kinross services. I was late home from work and needed to fill up prior to an early drive to the airport the following morning. I was tired, but looking forward to some quality time with the car. Just me and it at the pump. It seemed like the first time we’d been there together in months. I opened the petrol flap, unscrewed the cap and tenderly inserted the diesel nozzle. But it wouldn’t go in. I tried again, and again - thrusting harder and harder - but with no success.
I replaced the nozzle and looked more closely at the opening. Some kind of metal tongue seemed to have blocked the pipe into the tank, something I’d never seen before. I looked in the user manual but it had nothing to say on the matter. I just needed it to tell me what was wrong, but no explanation was forthcoming. With barely enough fuel to get home, never mind to the airport the following morning, I tried desperately to prize the tongue out of the way, but it did not yield. The woman in the kiosk couldn’t help either. She’d never come across this before. It was between me and the car. No one else could sort it out for us.
As a final resort I drove out of the filling station and back in to a different pump. The nozzle went in no problem. But there was no joy there, no warmth. It was routine and mechanical. I guess the car had made its point. Something gave at that moment, and I saw our relationship for what it was. You see, it knew I needed to give of myself. That it was in my nature. But the only reason I was giving to the Mini was because it was letting me. Not because it needed me. And when it suited it to move on, I’d be dumped by the roadside at the drop of a bonnet.
I've consulted with the finance company but there’s still twenty-six months to run on the contract, and no break clause. So the ultimate driving experience goes on, every day as perfect and trouble-free as the last. It’s been telling me it’s due a service for the last 5,000 miles, but I’m not doing it. Why should I bother? It can take itself in if it’s that clever. Or it can just bloody well seize up for all I care.
Anyway, as you've probably guessed, I’ve seen another car. Why the hell shouldn’t I after all I’ve been through? But I’m not rushing into anything - I’ve been hurt too many times. I’m going to take it nice and steady. I haven’t even driven it yet, but I have a feeling that this time it’s for real. Sure, it’s no looker. And doesn’t have the refinement of the Countryman, or the intellect. But it has a strange rugged beauty - and a vulnerability - that really attracts me. But more than anything else I think it needs me, as much as I need it, and that counts for a lot. Anyway, we’ll see what happens.
@jesoverthinksit
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