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[dragonlady7]

i still haven't transcribed the entry I composed by hand in the Crossgates Mall parking lot after not quite succeeding in getting the minivan home. I suppose I should do that, but I don't spend much time at the computer here. I may well revise it on the train ride back to Buffalo to make it even more entertaining, as it is, i think, rather an exciting story and would be entertaining well-told.

However. I have been reading, and at that, reading adventure stories, so if I'm really on the ball I'd tell it in that style. That could be entertaining. Though a minivan is by no means the Indefatigable, and using a parking brake as an emergency brake has little in common with bending a crossjack royal.

Dad is beginning to think the minivan may not be worth repairing. He is disappointed, as it was some $16,000 when new and he didn't even get ten years out of it. (He generally expects more out of his cars. The old Cherokee was bought used for $4k and he got over 150,000 miles out of it, and only took it off the road because the engine was idling so high and none of us could reliably start it [fuel injection hath spoiled me most greviously, till I am scarce able to manhandle a carburetor into submission] except, of course, for Dad, who can start the Voyager [starter motor pronounced dead, battery pronounced unsuitable] without the slightest bit of trouble, to my consternation.)

But anyhow. I have deposited my charge safe in the hands of my father, at whose discretion I leave any decisions concerning either repairs or cutting one's losses.

But I here plead that any of you who drive cars in snowy climates, where new regulations demand they use inordinate quantities of salt, get your car's undercarriage cleaned frequently. It is doubtless salt residue and six months of sitting seldom used that are to blame for my car's sudden and complete failure of its braking system, and that is both expensive and dangerous. I will be making sure Dave cleans his car, because car designers haven't the wit to use stainless steel in their brake lines. The undercarriage of my car was distressing to behold. And the brake lines are extremely exposed-- I hadn't realized that they just sort of hang out there waving in the wind (and, in my case, dripping brake fluid, or indeed spewing it, shameless little buggers).

I think I'll be taking the train back to Buffalo tomorrow, as I have to get a move on getting me a job so's I can afford me a car. If the minivan is condemned, what sort of vehicle shall I get?

I think I'll ruminate on that on the train as well. I have been pondering what I need in a car, but first I think I'm going to see how long I can get by without one. And of course, I'm going to ask my insurance company to cancel the policy and give me my money back. At which point I'm going to at least mentally set it aside, remembering that it's expensive to outfit a car with all its legal work.

A pity. I was proud of having gotten my first license plates.