Baby you can drive my car
YES, especially if you’re inclined towards ten-year old, four-door Japanese compact sedans with chipped paint, poor airconditioning, and interiors that smell like wet underarms on a hot afternoon.
Because this is exactly the kind of car that I have.
But it is far from being a lemon.
After all, every single day, whenever I turn on the ignition, Charing—the car’s name—is always ready to roll, prepared to take on the wide variety of challenges posed by Metro Manila traffic.
Be it speed demons or suicidal pedestrians, Charing can either evade or outmaneuver both, with very minimal assistance from her driver, a certified amateur who inadvertently turns up the airconditioning whenever he wants to listen to the radio.
Despite two previous owners and her long years on the road, Charing has remained dependable, never once breaking down, even after a minor collision with a jeepney in Makati.
During the height of lunch hour traffic a few months ago, I made the mistake of overtaking a jeepney which was cruising along Chino Roces Avenue at the speed of a funeral hearse.
A few seconds after I stepped on the gas pedal, I heard a crash on my right,
which later turned out to a broken signal light and a crumpled fender; damages sustained by Charing. I then jumped out of car, dazed and confused about how the whole thing took place.
Meanwhile, in a move to defend himself and possibly reduce his liability, the jeepney driver immediately confronted me and said that I had miscalculated my turn, resulting in the jeepney’s dislocated muffler.
With the confidence of a mechanical engineer explaining combustion technology, he said that when I rear-ended his vehicle, the muffler was forced to skew to the left.
To correct this problem, all I had to do was to fork over two hundred pesos for the muffler’s repair.
Since the encounter immediately demolished whatever confidence I had behind the wheel, I lost all ability to think clearly nor quickly and proceeded to fork out the money.
However, later on, I realized that I was an unsuspecting victim of a small time con. Besides failing to inspect the supposedly damaged muffler, I also automatically waived my right to dispute the jeepney driver’s version of events.
Upon reaching the office, I puttered about, dazed and distracted, spending the next eight hours wondering why I ever bothered to bring the car to Makati, one of the worst places to drive in the city.
Which is why I’m regularly taking trains to work now.
It’s faster and cheaper although it smells worse than Charing’s interior. But that’s another story.
