Saturday was normal enough. I decided to do lots of things today, knowing that ‘TPTB’ will continue to lie to me for the last eight and a half slong years. The three of us had breakfast and ‘Kali’ wanted to go to Fabric R Us, which is the general location I wanted to go.
After breakfast, I dropped off my gray-colored, V-6, 1998 Ford Mustang at the local Berryessa Chevron (gasoline) station for a quick inspection, repair and/or tune-up as to why it:
- smells like gasoline inside the vents
- starts up after the second ignition during hot and cold weathers
- rides rough during street and highway speeds
- cuts off after a few seconds from a cold start or while idling
I can’t take it to a nicer shop because I don’t have the money. I found the following link about a possible fuel leak, misfiring spark plug or bushings binding. I was thinking about maybe the battery is dying again due to the cold climate or just simply not using the stupid car for the past year and half of unemployment.
My vehicle is currently located elsewhere after calling the Vietnamese guy of its whereabouts via a business card handed by two elderly couples near the cash register. I know they find something ‘honestly’ wrong with it because they already know it runs rough when they drove my car to this ‘safer, locked’ and more spacious place.
When we arrived to that place and looked inside to see that the hood to my car is open. My parental units made noise with the usual friendly smiles about how they didn’t call the car owner — moi — prior to moving it to the main repair shop.
But it’s okay for now because I don’t give a damn. As a matter of fact, I would to like either to donate that piece of junk or at least get the blue book value and get myself a new car. That is why I did my charity work at the beginning of this year. It sucks to be stranded without my vehicle running correctly.
Copyright © 2008 by Fluffy von der Flynn. All rights reserved.
Leave a Reply