A year ago I had to put an old friend down, someone I had known for 13 years. When I first knew him he was a weathered three year old, who had been around the block a few times. It was a friendship of convenience, as he needed a new home, and I was in need of the services he could provide. He was my first, and I will never forget him.
At first the hot summer days were invigorating, as I felt freer than I ever was before. My friends liked him, and my foes stayed clear. He was big, black, powerful, and named after a sword--not just any sword, the sword of a pirate. Arrr!!! Before long we got pulled over for the first time, but his stealthy exterior concealed our velocity. Sadly it all started to spiral--at first I sneezed at the sight of the bright Florida sun (damn photic sneeze reflex--why do only white people get cursed with that?), which led me to shut my eyes the moment he slammed into a shitty-ass mustang. He was OK, and a little bit of cosmetic surgery left him as good as new. Alas minus the stealthiness, and I soon got my first ticket. Later we began to feel the exhilaration of weightlessness, being airborn, and an occasional bath in a small pond. After a while he started becoming ill. First he lost his cool, then he couldn't keep a charge. Before long he would forget how to keep warm in the winter, and he finally acquired quite a loud persona. Through it all he kept going.
I miss my Olds. He made it 180,000 miles, sounded like a '68 Camero, looked like A Chevy Celebrity, Pontiac 6000, and Buick Century, but he was way cooler, as he had a rocket on his grill. He was a rocket--the rocket, and my old friend. Not many cars have experienced ice on the inside of the windshield (no heat), exploding pop cans from brutal Florida heat (no AC), flat tires from rusty rims that no longer hold a seal, an odd odor from a leaky crown air freshener, wiring chewed by squirrels, and many other adventures. I had to have him put down, and I wish him well in the auto afterlife.