My A3 And Me
I watched as my Dad sighed and looked down, “Alright, but you’re probably just going to be let down again in a couple weeks”
I know the likelihood that he’s right is high. I just don’t want it to be.
Faith, time and money had all been spent to keep going and I was willing to take it one last stand to see if I could make this work. Patch up what had been broken and hope that the road ahead would be weathered together.
Not one month later my Dad's prophecy came to pass.
I was driving to work when it happened. Of course the universe would conspire to make it as cliche as possible and have it happen on one of the coldest days of winter thus far; As if it really needed to drive the point home so even my dumb ass would get the point.
Shivering, I leaned to the center console of my car to turn on the heat…. Nothing.
Now, my Audi A3 is a 2006; at 14 years old things can take a little longer to get going. Having just turned 40, I can relate. But 10 minutes later, still nothing. I put my hand in front of the vent, it’s cold. I leaned forward and put my hand over the defroster vent - warmish - heavy on the “ish.”
Later, during some downtime at work, I Googled. Googling is never a good idea, whatever is wrong… just... just don’t do it. Yes, all possibilities appeared instantly before me, but inevitably, one of the top results is always the most unfavorable outcome. In my mind this only solidifies that Google is, in fact, continuously surveilling us all. It has amassed years of data made up of my shitty luck, calculated it into its algorithms and knows I need to be prepped for the worst, which when I think about it, is actually kinda nice.
The worst here? Something to do with “The Core”. Basically it’s one of the hardest parts to get to and although we Germans are amongst the most efficient and well built, we’re a bitch to work on.
Ok, that’s worst case. I told myself I was not going to freak out until my mechanic, Lou, (Frontino Automotive - If you’re in South Jersey, he’s just the best), an actual expert and not a guessing machine, tells me the truth of the matter.
Lou called - “Ya, it’s the core.”
Fucking hell.
“And you have an oil leak.”
Which would explain the oil puddles under where I park my car.
“Lou, can I just put some Duct Tape on the leak and power through the next 6 months?”
I can live without heat for winter, I’m built from hearty stock.
“Sweetheart, there’s not enough Duct Tape in the world, it’s time to let the old girl rest.”
Here’s the thing: I don’t want a new car. I love my car. I’ve had it for 10 years and 250,000 miles. It has reached an Italian finger “Muah!” kinda P.O.S. state. I can shine it up and it still looks pretty good. But if I spill something… ya know… meh.
Now, I’m not a person who anthropomorphised their car, assigned it a gender and named it. No judgement to those who do, I’ve done it to So many of my stuffed animals that I felt cruel putting them into plastic bags once I had outgrown them because they wouldn’t be able to breath in there.
Simply for some reason, I’ve never done it to my cars.
Still I do feel a very emotional connection. I want my A3 to stay in my life. It’s driven me down to South Carolina on multiple occasions, up to Martha’s Vineyard & down again to Florida with my sweet pupper, Charlie. It was with me through the long disintegration of my marriage and carried me home safely after first dates. It played an immeasurable amount of podcasts, pumped my jams when I rocked out and silently drove true when I cried all the way home.
No matter what else has been happening, that A3 has been a constant thing I can rely on, for a fucking decade. That shit matters. Even when the thing that matters so much to you holds no capability for you to matter to it.
Unfortunately at this point my options seemed to be to start looking or risk my engine exploding on my morning commute. Thus my search began.
I spent hours researching the ranking and reliability of Minis, Golfs, Focuses (Which if you are looking for a new to you used car, Sweet Jebus, you can’t swing your arm without hitting a Focus. Negotiate the shit out of that. There’s another one at the dealership across the street). What could be misinterpreted as me doing my due diligence, was actually me putting off the inevitable. For like two months and 6 quarts of replacement oil.
However, the “hiding my procrastination through research” actually paid off. I figured out what car I wanted. Reliable, fun, great reviews and much to my father’s horror, Japanese. Kassermans only buy American or German. A tradition which has only been broken by my Mother by buying a….. Wait for it….. Subaru! GASP!
Being that I am my Mother’s daughter, I informed my Dad that by buying this used car I was, in fact, supporting America’s economy. The manufacturer had gotten their money many years ago. My money would be going toward keeping a local used car dealership open and the commision to a hardworking man or woman who probably lived in a neighboring town. He couldn’t, or at least didn’t, counter my argument. Laughing with or again, maybe at me, he agreed.
I found a couple of comparable versions of the car at local dealerships, all pretty much within the same price range. Some fancier than others, some newer. Honestly, I didn’t much care which one I got, as long as I got the best deal.
It was a Monday night when, after creeping through 295 evening traffic, I made it to a local used car dealership. This was the third or fourth I had visited. My intention was to test drive the car, go swim at my gym, then go to therapy. I wasn’t ready to actually buy anything. Just dip my toes in the water. Previous salesmen had found out I’m REAL good at telling them no. I consider it my low key superpower.
Salesman: “What can I do to make this deal today?”
Me (flat as I can make my voice): “Nothing.”
I don’t intend to whip out my inner “Karen” but in my mind there isn’t. My A3 is now in a state where it was going to be dismantled and sold for parts. Truely, the repairs cost almost three times as much as the car is worth, there’s no saving it. The thought of starting that process broke my heart. So to keep the game we were both playing stalled, I knocked the board off the table before they even had a chance to make their first move.
But this evening, there was something else. I got the reaction from this car that I got from my A3 at the first test drive:
“This is the one.”
Feelings of guilt made my stomach make that churning, grumbley noise that rings out with bravado during a moment of silence in a middle school Language Arts. “I have no control over that! It just happened!”
Sweet Baby Chickens.. alright…I thanked the salesman and told him I’d be back on Thursday to buy the car. I wasn’t afraid of it not being there as it had been on the lot for like 100 days. More importantly I wanted time to say goodbye to my A3. Just a couple more days to shiver with the descending temperatures on my morning commutes, slam the clutch into gear every 5 or 6 shifts and to listen and feel the increasingly loud rolling THUD which was either in the wheelhouse or just as likely, the engine (remember the aforementioned oil leak), as I drove to and fro.
I want to assure you dear reader, none of these things kept me, my Dad, my boyfriend or my mechanic from fearing for my safety. Everyone was pretty much waiting for “The phone call.” Me, standing on the side of the road next to my flaming, once bright red car, now charred to a burnt sienna, which outside of this situation is a color you may have wanted to paint your living room.
I felt like I owed it to my car to stick with it till the bitter end. Like the beginning of every Hallmark made for TV movie, I was the woman who believed this was the time things would be different. With every patch of our relationship things would go back to being how it was. I was ignoring a lesson long since learned. This thing in my life was showing me, through action, that it would not be stable or reliable ever again. In truth it hadn’t been in a really long time. I had simply gotten used to being let down and fabricating excuses for my tolerance of it all.
Back at the car dealership, the young salesman in front of me asked what he could do to make this sale happen tonight. As I prepared my flat “Nothing,” another salesman appeared at my side. He was obviously the “closer” and he, again wildly cliche, made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. OK, this is happening.
After a flurry of paperwork, insurance transfer and signatures, my new car was beckoned from the back and parked next to my A3. Looking up at the clock, it was already past 8. The dealership had technically closed and I had to leave to make my therapy appointment on time. I scooted out the front door to transfer my belongings into my new car. I kept saying in my head “I'm not ready for this, it’s too fast”. There was simply no time to grieve, no time to dwell. The universe had decided, “Enough, Sarah, it’s time to move on”
Walking out of the dealership I shook the hand of each salesman who helped me through this process. The now locked doors were opened for my exit just in time to see the young salesman jump into my beloved A3 and drive it off to it’s next phase. I feel he was a bit cavalier about it, but he may have been put off by the metallic creaking noise the clutch made every time it was pushed in.... who knows?
Once seated in my new Mazda3, I adjusted the seats and mirrors enough to feel safe on my southbound drive - I’d fine tune tomorrow. Pulling out onto Rt 38, I wiggled deeper into the seat and congratulated myself for only calling my Daddy once during the sales process. (Not a strong feminist moment, but it’s my truth) At the first stoplight, I looked around and realized…I just bought an upgraded version of my A3. A sporty little hatchback, new enough that the upgrades make me a little giggly to have and just like when I brought home my A3, a feeling that I would be safe again.
I hate that my hand was forced to say goodby, My A3 will most likely never be whole again. But it’s what I had to do to keep myself from riding along in its path to destruction. I found solace in that I wasn’t letting go of everything. I said toodaloo to what wasn’t working anymore and now I get to revel in what I was opening myself up to gaining.
I have come to the conclusion that it’s mainly seat warmers. I was woefully ignorant of the pure joy of driving around with a toasty tush.