...Until we meet again...
I would like to take a moment to announce the passing of "Scabs," my wonderfully beat-up (I called it "personality" when introducing it to new people) 1993 Subaru Legacy Sedan. Scabs was selflessly carting me back from work Wednesday evening when I ran headlong into a sudden backup, unable to stop or swerve far enough in time to avoid a collision with the Honda Civic that had suddenly stopped in front of me.
Scabs was totalled, but, as a final demonstration of its faithfulness and the protection it gave me through all of my adventures in reckless driving (three speeding tickets and two minor accidents that earned Scabs its battle-hardened appearance), I stepped out of the car not thirty seconds after the impact with nothing more than a ringing ear and some abrasions from the airbag deployment.
After hundreds of trips back and forth between Westminster, Towson, and College Park, Scabs had so many memories, so many stories, and so many artifacts (read "crumbs") of the past five years that no words I ever write could describe the way I appreciated it.
The toughest part yet to come, aside from finding new insurance, a new car, and dodging litigation from those who I ran into, will be going out to the salvage lot and removing all those little personal items that made it "my" car.
As we remember Scabs, as some of you undoubtedly will, let us also recall some of the wonderful words it inspired:
"My car? It's protected by P.O.S."
"I saw some poor bastard spin out on 695 this morning."
"Yeah. That was me. I need some duct tape."
"We were just coming back from a party, officer...er--my GRANDMOTHER's party!--grandmother's party."
"What the hell is that noise?"
"It's been doing that for awhile, it's probably not dangerous."
"There was a pedestrian there, I swerved to miss him!! No? A deer? A yeti! A Goddamn yeti!"
If you have any such memories of Scabs that I left out, please, add them as comments.
...a moment of silence, please.
I've got wheels of polished steel,
I've got tires that grab the road
I've got seats that selflessly hold my friends
And a trunk that can carry the heaviest of loads
I've got mind that can steer me to your house
And a heart that can bring you red flowers
My intentions are good, and earnest, and true
But under my hood is internal combustion power
and Satan is my motor
Hear my motor purr
In memory of "Scabs"
1993-2003
Scabs was totalled, but, as a final demonstration of its faithfulness and the protection it gave me through all of my adventures in reckless driving (three speeding tickets and two minor accidents that earned Scabs its battle-hardened appearance), I stepped out of the car not thirty seconds after the impact with nothing more than a ringing ear and some abrasions from the airbag deployment.
After hundreds of trips back and forth between Westminster, Towson, and College Park, Scabs had so many memories, so many stories, and so many artifacts (read "crumbs") of the past five years that no words I ever write could describe the way I appreciated it.
The toughest part yet to come, aside from finding new insurance, a new car, and dodging litigation from those who I ran into, will be going out to the salvage lot and removing all those little personal items that made it "my" car.
As we remember Scabs, as some of you undoubtedly will, let us also recall some of the wonderful words it inspired:
"My car? It's protected by P.O.S."
"I saw some poor bastard spin out on 695 this morning."
"Yeah. That was me. I need some duct tape."
"We were just coming back from a party, officer...er--my GRANDMOTHER's party!--grandmother's party."
"What the hell is that noise?"
"It's been doing that for awhile, it's probably not dangerous."
"There was a pedestrian there, I swerved to miss him!! No? A deer? A yeti! A Goddamn yeti!"
If you have any such memories of Scabs that I left out, please, add them as comments.
...a moment of silence, please.
I've got wheels of polished steel,
I've got tires that grab the road
I've got seats that selflessly hold my friends
And a trunk that can carry the heaviest of loads
I've got mind that can steer me to your house
And a heart that can bring you red flowers
My intentions are good, and earnest, and true
But under my hood is internal combustion power
and Satan is my motor
Hear my motor purr
In memory of "Scabs"
1993-2003