Monday, April 4, 2011

In Love with My (Former) Car: My 1985 300 Diesel Mercedes.

In 2001, I was rear-ended while driving my 1988 Toyota Camry. The car was totaled and I received a settlement, which I would use to purchase a new car. My ever-practical and safety-minded father urged me to buy a sensible car. His suggestions were: Toyota, Honda, Hyundai, or Subaru. I listened to him carefully and then took it upon myself to buy a 1985 diesel engine Mercedes. I didn't care about being sensible. I needed a car that said "Robyn."

I was in love with this car. It had so much style. I adored the grill and the shape of the headlights. I loved how comfortable the navy blue leather seats were. The ride was smooth. The diesel engine was so loud that one time I was ordering food at a drive-thru, and the girl taking the order said, "Ma'am! Could you please turn your engine off? I cannot hear you over your engine." The car could never be stolen, at least not in the winter, because the cold weather makes it nearly impossible to start a diesel engine unless you have the magic, personal touch for your particular car. Even then, it would sometimes take between 10 to 20 tries to start the car. It took 12.5 seconds to go from 0 to 60mph. When merging onto a highway, I would have to make sure there were no oncoming cars for as far as my eyes could see, so that I would not end up being torched in a fiery auto wreck. I had to take it to a special mechanic for European cars. German car parts cost a fortune. Towards the end, it leaked oil all over the place, and my landlord got angry with me for ruining the street. It was the best car ever.

My father hated the car and called it "The Nazi-mobile." Yet, being the good Dad that he was, he once spent the day washing and waxing the car to make it look beautiful.

**Update-- three days after writing this entry**
I have just arrived at a problem. I began this post three days ago with the intention of having a point. Unfortunately, my brain does not hold on to ideas for more than three minutes past the moment of actively working on/pursuing the idea. Therefore, I have come back to edit this unfinished post and have found that I have absolutely no idea why I was writing about my old car.