Monday, January 28, 2008

RIP Sean Preston (the car, not the kid)

I'm mourning my last car - Sean Preston. It took it's last breath Thursday morning, in the -15 degree cold, as I was on my way to work, driving down 35W South. The death throes were the speedometer whizzing back and forth (really, I know I wasn't doing 90), and the clanging that was something more than the permanent injury of it's muffler. In it's last moment, these telltale signs gave me warning that it was about to pass on to better pastures than the frigid cold of Minneapolis traffic. I was saddened and scared all at once. Thankfully we made it to an offramp and it spent it's last minutes on the corner of 46th & the Frontage Road along the highway.

In the wake of Sean Preston's shortlived life (I only got it back in October/November), I am trying to find the best way to handle it's clean & tidy disposal. And the only thing I have to say about that is: I'm a girly girl. I shouldn't have to be doing this. I'm a girly girl - I HATE doing this.

Sometimes the Lord stretches us in ways we can appreciate. We see the growth, we are happy. Other times, He puts challenges in our paths that serve as lessons, and they just suck. They go against our nature as human beings and cause us to do things we didn't know possible. This is one of those times for me.

I know I should be proud of myself when I do things I didn't think I'd be able to handle. Stuff that, under traditional gender roles, would be considered a "man's job". Like fixing things, or car stuff. But I can't help but thinking that I shouldn't have to do them. That's what guys are for. Look, I know this is wrong, but there is a really, really girly part of me that wants to scream that out, right or wrong or in between. In any case, there are no men in my life, so I have to do these things for myself, whether I like it or not. Lesson learned Lord - You will not give me more than I can handle, personally, and You will equip me to do whatever it is You are asking. Whether I like it or not.

So, this weekend, I made some phone calls, and was able to find someone to pronounce the final rites. Yep, it's heart gave out. It's very heart - the motor, just died out on me. Fortunately, it wasn't in any pain (save the humiliation of a missing bumper, almost like a hole in the back of your pants). Ok, good job Trin - you made the calls & got the prognosis, now what?

Well, unlike the tradition of the Griswold family, I can't just leave my car on the front porch, like Aunt Edna, curlers sticking out from under a blanket. So, I made even more phone calls, to see if someone could come tow it, and at least give me some of the money I've invested into poor little Sean Preston. Yeah, what a joke. Here's where things get hairy, and if I had a boyfriend/husband/brother/father, they would be handling this instead of me. Because the thing is, sometimes mechanic guys can be just rude. They hear a woman on the other end, and instead of dealing with her patiently and with detail, they snap off their information as if you're supposed to know just what they're referring to. Who knows, maybe they do this to other men too, but for all I know, it's just us weaker sexed individuals that they seem to pick on.

All this to say, that a few hours, a few phone calls and a few tears later, I have found someone to come pick up the last remains of my car. In about 12 hours I will be officially carless again. Which, I don't mind so much, really (except when it comes time to go grocery shopping, which is near impossible on a bicycle).

May you rest in peace Sean Preston. You were good while you lasted.

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