Musings of Me

The KIA in Crisis

My car has had problems. Some say this is because it is my car, others maintain it is because I own a foreign POS KIA. I believe it to be a combination of the two. After all, my mother’s car had mice living in it for a while. As a result she had corn in the engine, much to the shock of the guys who volunteered to jump it after she left the lights on. Perhaps I was doomed from the beginning.

In the ongoing saga that is my car, I have had to crawl into it through the trunk, have ended up in several ditches, slid down three hills, pried open the hood with a screwdriver via the front grill, have outlived three windshields, a mysterious ‘brakes gone wild’ problem, and almost unfroze my gas tank top with a portable hair dryer. Almost. The stupid car won’t stay in park either. Jason is lucky he still has his feet. Then there was the episode where my windshield wiper fluid froze on me. Great. Just great.

The most current car problem started simply enough as a harmless Wal-Mart run. I forget what it was for (likely chocolate and hair dye) but Emily and I thought it a grand plan at the time. I unlocked the car door, climbed in, and shut it. The stupid door would not remain closed, but instead happily bounced open with every attempt made to close it. So in a “screw you, car!” moment (I outdid Adam Sandler from Happy Gilmore), I hit lock and slammed it. Hard. Well, that was several months ago, and since then I have had to enter and exit the car through my passenger door. I have gotten quite good.

In any case, this brought me back to my friendly neighborhood KIA dealer courtesy of my 5 year 100,000 mile warranty. There was almost an audible sigh as I rolled in. They know my car… and its driver. In fact, the last time I graced the dealership with my presence, I maintained that the car only needed a routine checkup, despite the alignment problem and the fact they had to keep it parked in a heated garage overnight because “there is so much snow packed in this thing, that it appears somebody picked it up with a forklift and dropped it in a ditch.”

Well, subtlety isn’t my strong point either. In any case, Jon, the friendly technician and I had a nice chat while a receptionist called in a shorter mechanic (no joke). Apparently the mechanics are either all taller than I am, or not as limber. It took a full ten minutes to categorize the current problems with my car, and sometime after hearing the words “corrosion” and “your gear shifter” I found out Jon is a college grad from Minnesota who was premed, but decided he hated it. I made a mental note to apply to grad school after all.

There is something to be said for patience. I waited in the ‘customer lounge’ for four hours while they dismantled (and I mean dismantled) my car. And that isn’t the worst part. I was sharing this waiting room with distressed personalities all grieving for their KIAs. Moans of “please take care of my baby” and “Dear god, say it is still under warranty!!” echoed through the garage where we could watch the carnage through the conveniently located glass windows. It was exactly like a bad 1950’s movie where the expectant father walks around with cigars and soaks up sympathy for his strife with the other patrons. In my case it was the smart-ass “hey! Check out that red Sephia! The entire drivers’ side is gone save the door!” that finally pissed me off.

The damn door is still stuck. I have to go back next week to get a new one (they had to order parts) and they assured me the short mechanic will be in. I doubt he is happy about it, but I was amused watching him try to get in the car to drive it out. For the rest of the time his feet were sticking out the passenger door, and I think he may have had blood rushing to his head. Better him than me.

Moral(s) of the story: Be nice to mechanics, apply to grad school or get a job, eat chocolate, and do not run over your friend’s foot. Also don’t leave the car lights on, but if you do, warn the mice.

posted by Jill @ 10:15 PM