Guest Writer Leah Rizzo, middays on Eagle 97.7
Remember back around Christmas and New Year’s when we had two or three weeks of temperatures that were better suited for polar bears and penguins rather than people? Then remember how we had like a week’s worth of snow days? I do. I especially remember because during those few dreadful weeks my truck, which is nearly as old as I am, decided to stop doing the one thing it does best; heat. When you don’t want to go to your parents for money because you’re a strong, independent millennial I have found that the best way to handle expensive car problems is to turn the music up and sing really loud, pretending you can’t hear whatever it is that sounds like an airplane crash inside your vehicle. Typically, I find this method to result in a more expensive problem than if I had just taken it in when it sounded like a plane was simply taking off rather than violently falling out of the sky. This was no exception.
I suppose I had been driving around like a White Walker for a while, but with the constant threat of Global Warming looming in the background I didn’t notice until the temperatures hit the teens. I went to turn on my heat, expecting to have to shed several layers throughout my commute to work, only to have frigid air blast me in the face for forty minutes. As I always do, I ignored it. Believing that I could withstand fourteen degrees with a few sweaters, a coat, and a hat I was quickly proven wrong when I went to visit my family and couldn’t feel my toes by the time I got to my parents’ door. My parents were alarmed by the lack of blood flow to my feet and told me to take the car to get the heat fixed.
Opting for the cheapest solution I could possibly find I was totally surprised and completely delighted to discover that all my truck needed was piece of cardboard slid into the front to help blow the heat back to my freezer burnt body. Or so I thought. On my way to work the next morning, I was driving along, elated to finally have caught a break with my constant car struggles, when I caught a glimpse of the temperature gauge. Slowly but surely I watched the needle creep past the “safe to drive” limit and make its way for the “H.” I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to stop because I had no other way to get to work, but I didn’t want to keep driving a vehicle that was about to overheat. I continued down Route 1, all the while thinking up new cars that I would look amazing in, when noticed something very unusual happening. As my vehicle hit 50mph, the temperature gauge started to return to a “safe to drive”. I couldn’t believe it. Even though my truck wasn’t full of passengers and there wasn’t any bomb, I knew Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock would be proud.
After trusting that I could keep my truck running at 50 or above for what most people would probably consider a few too many times, I decided that I no longer wanted to be in ‘Speed’ and it was time to do the Grown Up thing. I made an appointment to get my truck fixed. As has proven true every time I ignore a problem with the vehicle I’m driving, the fix was expensive. I felt the hard and powerful punch of adulthood. I know this, because I had never been so excited to see my tax refund money. Have I finally learned that I should take my vehicle in at the first sign of trouble? That has yet to be seen. In the meantime, I plan to keep driving around in my little old truck for as long as it will run.
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