Making change

I hate change.  A friend sent me a text message with the words, “I HATE transitions and it seems that my life is full of transitions now!” I thought about her text.  Does it sound better to call a change a transition?  It might sound better but I doubt that it feels better.

I used to think everybody hated changes, but I have a daughter who thrives on them.  Maybe not so much since she has children.  Children fuel change just by their presence.   But she has never been hesitant about changing jobs or moving.  Those types of changes paralyze me.  I suspect more people dislike change than love them.

I bought a car last week.  It was a necessary change since my Mazda Tribute had become a drain on my life in every stinking way.  It had stranded me.  Tow trucks were on my speed dial.  When I finally got it repaired this last time, I benched it and advertised it for sale.  Bob’s son was my salesperson since I couldn’t tell someone with a straight face that they were getting a good car.  I told Bobby that I’d pay him a commission to sell the cursed machine.  If it was up to me, I’d be paying someone to take that car.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’d just spent $1,000 on fuel pump and injectors.  The mechanic said he’d compression tested the motor and it was strong.  The Trib wore $900 in new shoes and sported a new inspection sticker.   His tune-up was less than 90 days old.  I did everything reasonable to make sure the car would run for miles and miles.

My experience with the car gave me no such reassurance.   Every 1,000 miles or so, he’d lose sufficient coolant to over-heat.  The mechanic finally said that I needed to carry coolant.  Change mechanics?  I did that.  Mechanic #2 offered to take the motor apart.

By looking at it, you would think it’s a nice vehicle.

A few months ago, the Tribute took a dislike to the fuel I was using and wouldn’t start.  Fuel injector cleaner provided a short-term fix.  The mechanic replaced the oxygen sensors, then injectors.  Mechanic #2 suggested that I use premium gasoline.  That didn’t work.  Mechanic #3 replaced the fuel pump.  That’s when I stuck on the “For Sale” signs.  It was running but for how long?

Bobby sold the Tribute and it left, loaded on a transport to Mexico.  I look for it when a news report refers to violence on the border.  One thing for sure, they won’t use it as the getaway car.

About texasgaga

I am a mom, a grandmom (Gaga to my 2nd oldest grand-child), a sister, a friend, a construction estimator, a homeowner, an active member of a 12 step recovery group, an artist, a reader, a survivor, a do it yourself wannabe, a laugher
This entry was posted in Cars, Driving, Humor and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Making change

  1. You’re so right. I read about this all the time.
    Awesome post.

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