All roads lead to Rome… No that’s not it…
It’s been a while since I’ve put anything up here. Not for lack of wanting to, or absence of mentally jumble thoughts however; the battling of demons takes its tole every now and again. I wish that were merely a passing reference to Dungeons and Dragons sessions but sadly no.
Perhaps it was the apparent unending winter; or the wax and wane of it. Certainly the lapse in regular shifts had something to do with it; add in normal day to day worries and woes and the situation was just ripe to throw one off the rails and tumbling down the berms.
Additional dread reared its head as my 34th spin around the sun closed in, and with it more financial considerations…. What to do with Arthur Dent… He certainly wouldn’t pass an Emissions Test and EVEN if through some highly improbable course of events he managed to; it would only be a short high speed burn straight down into an inevitable money pit.
One thing, after another; is what I’ve been wading through, but there was no helping it.
I pulled the old white Buick into the local Buick dealer as the sun crept up over its blocky and alphabetized garages. Just to take a look. I was wide awake after the shift that Sunday evening, as the generator ran out of power earlier in the morning. Wandering around in the cold trying to get a cell signal to call the Forman has a way of helping with that.
The lot was littered with sparkling 2018s; glistening under the morning sun as it broke through the crystals of snow and ice that just barely remained from the weeks prior warmth. It’s funny how we torture ourselves at times, pointlessly going and staring at things far beyond our means. The futility of thinking and dreaming of things better left alone. I brought my old clunking Buick to a stop in front of a 2011 of it kin stuffed between a Cadillac and a Chevrolet.
I remembered when ol’ Arthurs paint was as unmarred and brilliant. It was a certified pre-owned deal but still a far cry from the normal 2K I’d spent on Dent. Or for any car my family had ever purchased. We just didn’t buy things that new. Never could. That level of extravagance was never within our reach, or at least we never saw the use in dropping so much. It was a hell of a machine though.
It wasn’t an exciting week; I tried to argue with work about more shifts. No avail… although putting in my taxes netted me some sweet sweet returns. I hoped it’d enough to replace Mr.Dent. Unfortunately the more I looked around the area, the only cars I was interested in would still cost me a few grand more. Double Denty thats for sure. The last I’d been out to stare at the Buick at the lot like that scene out of Wayne’s World-
The Salesman had come over and offered me a test drive. I thought it’d be rude to take it with no intention of buying it so I told him maybe another time. That thought festered and bothered me more than it should though. So the next day I chatted with the Old Man about it, said ‘Let’s go check this thing out eh?’
After some casual conversation with the salesman we had some keys and a plate for it and we hopped in. Sliding into the leather seats was akin (in my mind) to sliding into the cockpit of some spaceship or Bladerunner-esque Spinner. Elegant contours, buttons, switches and screens. My old man took shotgun and goggled. “Jesus where do you put the key?” I laughed at him and put my foot to the brake and poked the ignition button with a finger-gun action.
The dash lit up with lights flashing and soft chiming bells. A readout searched for a phone, and the satellite radio boomed to life across the internal surround system. My father swung his head in every direction at once. “Oh christ it’s going to be like flying a fucking plane!”
After a good five minute or so explanation of what the multiverse of buttons did and didn’t do we actually took the test drive. It was as smooth and quiet as it needed to be, and loud and powerful in every way it wasn’t smooth and quiet. The seats held you in ways you forgot seats could; and in conspiracy with the steering wheel they both warmed to the touch. I was barely out of the parking lot and I looked down to realize the thing had already climbed to 100k; the salesman didn’t care. He had a sale to make.
Later that evening my old man saw me thinking. He knew what I knew. I couldn’t let this go. Nor would I for that matter.
Despite the cried in the back of my brain that it might not be the right move; I went back down to the dealership the next day. Dressed to the nines (because if you’re taking money, you better look like you’re ready to do business) I sat across from Tom (he really was a rather cool cat) and dropped my hand, which in this case was a collection of like cars and models from here to Quebec; prices and odometers, bells and whistles. I named my price. He did the standard go back and check with the bosses. After a lot of banter and bad noise we ended up at a deal… now it was the banks turn.
I left that afternoon with my offer sent; waiting to hear good or bad news… I had to try and keep my mind right… just because I wasn’t happy with my place in life; didn’t mean I hadn’t been plugging away and doing the day to day. It’d been a few years, I’d paid the right bills, and worked the right hours. Everything should look good enough on paper right? Right!
So long and thanks for all the fish
I woke up to the call in the morning. The bank agreed to terms…. They were actually going to lend ME the money, and it wasn’t astronomically out of my means either. This might be a simple thing for many, but until that moment it just wasn’t something I could ever have fathomed doing, or being allowed to do. I could pick it up Tuesday…
“Christ that’s four days away…”
The interim was filled with the usual tripe. Calling insurance companies, moving funds, pulling out hair… and finally… cleaning out ol’ Arthur and saying goodbye… I started driving later than most; hell I knew me when I was 16! There was no way that giving that kid a car would have been a good idea. Even 24 was iffy but… whatever.
When the time came, I was getting back from working radio out west… see my Grandma Eadie; may she rest as wonderfully as she deserves, gave me my ‘inheritance’ she called it, when I had graduated.
‘Get an old car, or a nice apartment. Everything is so damn expensive these days, hard for a young man to get started without cutting their own throats. It’s horrible!’ She sat at my uncles table 8 floors above downtown Ottawa, the 1am moon sinking low in the skyline behind her.
I was still in college then, rooming with the Uncle and had just gotten home from doing another episode of ‘Blue by Association’ on CKDJ 107.9. I wasn’t aware she was coming up to visit that week so I had thought I’d woken her up when I strolled in; but she was a Night Hawk same as me; so that wasn’t a problem. We’d sat up and finished a bottle of wine and smoked cigarettes until about 3, if it wasn’t 4! Talked about all sorts of things; poetry, history, religions. We always had great talks.
The last time I saw her was helping her out of that very car she had given me the money for. After mums birthday, and the Chinese buffet where the waitress made a scene about taking a chicken leg.
“OH YOU STEAL A CHICKEN!!!”
Grandma just kept wrapping it up in the napkin and tucked it into her purse anyway. It was Manner, The Pineapple Princess, Mr.Sambo, Grandma and I rolling across town laughing. After I mildly threatened to push her out of the car over her love for McDonalds coffee against Tim Hortons. Two days later when we found her in her apartment with the police. We found three crushed cigarette butts, ashes, and a lone chicken bone in her bedside garbage can.
Our minds do everything they can to hang on to things; it does it for various reasons I suppose.
All the same I took Arthur for a few final laps around town; sat near the river and listened to some tunes and had a coffee late into the night. Drove by a few of Grandmas old apartments. The ones I could remember her living in over the years anyway. Then we pulled the plates off and went to get the new ride. We ferried Arthur over to the wrecking yard after that. Dad driving and I running distraction behind him, him with no plates and all.
It’s surprising the amount of stuff you can fit into a car. It took a while to clear him out, but I left him with the necessities. A hitchhiker has to always know where his Towel is, so the gets to keep the towel that always rested in the trunk, and he might as well keep the last few nips of the bottle of Canadian Club whiskey I found there too.
So long and Thanks for all the Fish!
The wreckers asked what was wrong with it, and I just explained the Etest bit and the money pit worries. We were pulling the battery as it was still virtually brand new, and the old man could find a use for it, but everything else should work for the time being. They were in the middle of considering grabbing plates for it and taking it to a strip club when another wreck came over and absconded with the windshield wipers. Scavengers…
I’m still just getting to know the new ride; which I’ve decided to call The Heart of Gold, in keeping with hitchhikers theming. As well as the fact that it really is akin to a damned spaceship from what I’m used to!
Theres an odd connection between a person and their car isn’t there? Its like a wash of the foul feelings, an invigorating of the energy. I feel the roads differently, the journeys no matter how short are adventures again; and oddly enough I’ve picked up more shifts… a guard got canned for pissing all over the worksite, must have something against outhouses; and it's likely Big Baby is heading to another company, leaving my original Hospital spot open… and I’ve still got income tax returns left for that PI license… it’s going to be a wild spring I think.
Somethings coming over that horizon, and it doesn’t seem that far off anymore!
