Out with the Old

I think I forgot to mention in here that I managed to sell my old car, a couple of days ago.

We sold it to a teacher from my work's husband -- he is just starting a new job and needed a runaround car, so he grabbed it off me for $2000. Cash! So my first baby, my "May" as she used to be so lovingly called, my sort-of pride and joy, now belongs to someone else.


It did get me thinking though about some things I will miss about my old car, and the experiences I had with it. So without further ado, I present to you; The Biography (or is it Auto-Biography, haha, get it, Auto?? -snicker-) of my White Corolla.

When I first turned 16 and got my Learners permit, my dad instantly made me attempt them in a manual (or stick shift) transmission. He said he learned that way, and that if I learned to drive in a manual, I'd be able to drive ANY car in the future. He also told me cars were cheaper in manual, so little old me said "Okie Doke" and off we went to look for cars. I don't remember how or where we found it, but not long after we started looking, we came across a little Red Corolla sports edition -- manual, with air conditioning, really cute little car. Dad bought it, and I was going to pay him back.

It was a really pretty car. I remember dad taking me out around the backstreets driving it. I remember me freaking out, because I couldn't figure out how much pressure to apply on the clutch and it was all too hard. I remember dad freaking out because I obviously wasn't picking up this whole manual thing as well as he had. I should also mention here that my father is a bit of a drama queen. He tends to throw himself forward and over exaggerate bumps and turns if he is in the passenger seat of a car -- really making the driver feel uncomfortable and quite useless. He still does that sometimes even now, although not as much.

I got lessons with a professional driving instructor. My first instructor was this balding old guy whose name was Philip (why do I remember that?) and he was terrifying. He screamed at me whilst driving, screamed at me when I did something wrong and even went so far as reaching over to the drivers side of the car and yanking the steering wheel to pull over. He didn't last long. The second driving instructor was also a manual, and he didn't speak much English and was sort of useless. He didn't last long. By now, I had sort of decided that driving a manual was too much and I JUST WANTED TO DRIVE AN AUTO SO I COULD PASS THE BLOODY TEST. Seriously. There was no way I was going to pass the actual test in a manual, I wasn't confident enough.

So, I broke the news to dad, who freaked and flipped. We sold the beautiful car. (I don't think dad has ever forgiven me for this, by the way.) We went looking for another one -- automatic transmission this time around. We found one in the city, owned by this lady who barely drove it anywhere. It had no air conditioning, but it was nice and white and in good shape, and only cost us about $5000. We took it. I got lessons with one last instructor (whose name was Bruce -- again, WHY can I remember that?) He had a nice car and didn't shout at me ever while I was driving with him, even when I miscalculated some islands in the middle of the road and gave his nice car a not-so-nice scrape down the side. -cough-

I went for my driving test when I was 18, and I got them. First go. I was very proud.

Since then, these are some amazing little facts that you know you want to know about my first car.

# It had central locking which was always possessed and never worked properly.
# I had to change it's hubcaps a few times since I had nasty experiences with gutters.
# The dent which was at the rear of the car (which you can't see in this picture) happened when I was working at Jeanswest near J's house. It was a Thursday night shift, late, and it was just me and my workmate in the car park. We had a chat for a long time, then got into our own cars. I reversed (looked too, let me tell you) and put my foot down -- and reversed side on into a pole. Okay. So I still get tormented about this to this day. I said pole. It was actually a rather ginormous shopping centre pylon in the undercover car park. Shutup. Big dent. End of story.
# It was involved in my first ever accident at the end of last year. I wasn't at fault -- someone from America with an expired license decided to turn right from the left lane. It gets tricky explaining our road rules sometimes but suffice it to say it left me with a bent and battered old car which had to get repaired.
# J. was the first boyfriend to ever sit in this car.
# It had a CD player but it died and when I sold it last week, only played fuzzy radio stations.
# I blew the head gasket and the radiator on the car a few months ago which cost me over $1000 to repair. Nearly as much as what I sold the car for -- scary, eh?
# My car made the trek to Newcastle with me to visit Jen, and back, without blowing up! I am yet to do that mission yet with the new car, but I want to!!

Farewell, old friend. You will (sort of) be missed.

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