Maybe it's not the cars. Maybe it's me.
It all began in the summer of 2003. To do this day, I would probably say that was the best summer of my life. I had only been on my beloved island a few days when we (the new college age mission team) were given access to the Toyota Tercel (piece of junk). We barely knew our way around island and found ourselves down a side road when (insert scary music) the car suddenly wouldn't start. We tried everything. Eventually, I recall a story we had heard at mission training camp about a car that had broken down in the night on the dangerous roads of Bulgaria and the missionaries--fearing for their lives--put their hands on the car, prayed over it, and it started. I felt we were in a similar situation (well, maybe not dangers...and I guess it wasn't night...and there wasn't a lot of fear), so I suggested to the group we do the same thing. AND THE CAR STARTED!
Then in August of 2004 I moved to Saipan and in comes the Kia (piece of junk). I shared this car with my friend Sara. She backed it into a pole once. A couple of weeks later I was hit by a car. This could have been avoided if there weren't stray cows on the shoulder meaning I couldn't avoid being hit. There was also the drivers door that opened rarely meaning the driver had to crawl over and get out the passenger door. (Miraculously, this car is actually still running today on the island of Saipan. I have known the past two owners. Thankfully, this owner can actually work on the car.)
I moved to Guam in August of 2006 and inherited the hot pink station wagon. The previous owners will argue the color of the car with me, but let's just say....piece of junk. The poor car struggled with hills. And since Guam is nothing but a bunch of mountains, we didn't get along well. I remember frequently being passed and honked at. There was the time my cousin passed me and told me she'd wait for me at the top of the hill. Then there was the fateful day I was driving to work, up a mountain of course, when the car decided it had enough. Miraculously, I was able to pull over just enough into the cliff line to keep from causing a traffic jam. From there I began walking to work until I eventually hitched a ride to school. Seeing that my car is so memorable (hot pink station wagon) as everyone came in to work that day they would say, "Did I just see your car parked...." And that car was never to be driven by anyone again.
We could discuss Ben's car. There was the time it was stolen from the parsonage (where I'm sleeping now) by a guy I knew. The pastor tried to tell the police who stole it, but they wouldn't listen. Sure enough, they caught him two weeks later DRIVING IT in a routine traffic stop. (Small island, people! You can't steal a vehicle, drive it, and expect not to get caught.) Ben couldn't stand driving such a defiled car, so he bought a newer version of the same vehicle. (Note: his cars were not piece of junks, but very new Rav4s.) Summer 2012, I'm getting to drive Ben's very cool car as he is off island. Then some jerk decides to rob me at the beach stealing his keys. The other set of keys was with Ben--on the mainland. So we had to have it towed to the parsonage where I feared it would get stolen and he would again have to upgrade to the newer Rav4.
Summer 2013, Makenzie and I drove down to a very remote beach on the southern side of the island. My friend Kathy had met us there with her kids. We got ready to leave, and the van I was driving (piece of junk) wouldn't start. I hiked through the jungle to a camp site near by with pit pulls on chains. Thankfully, the guy wasn't quite as frightening as his dogs and jumped the car for us.
Summer 2014. I had noticed the odometer would drop....or often not register. Sunday as I was driving up Bello Road for a K-mart run, the van (same white piece of junk van as the summer 2013 story) started doing this crazy jerky thing and wouldn't accelerate. I pulled over, waved the cars around me (while having flash backs to the hot pink station wagon), turned off the air con, said a prayer and eased the piece of junk back to the parsonage. It did the whole jerky thing three more times. (Still not sure what is wrong).
Tonight, I take friends to the airport in the beige van (also a piece of junk). The air con doesn't really work on it which makes it even more miserable. I had turned off the van to go get a cart for the guys' luggage while they unloaded. I waved my farewell as they went inside the airport, went to turn on the ugly van and...you guessed it, it wouldn't start. I checked to make sure things like the aircon was off. It was (because it doesn't work). I tried several times. Nothing. I got out and wiggled the doors, pretending nothing was wrong. It was a matter of time before the ruthless airport security came and asked me to move my vehicle. I was trying to figure out how I was going to deal with the whole situation when they came over to yell at me. I jump back in, say a prayer, turn the key, and it starts! I drove straight back to the parsonage and realize here I sit with two vehicles that won't work.
The question is.....is it just the fact that I drive boonie cars...or is it me?
