So, yeah. My silver bullet died last week.
It was a sad day. Truly. That little sucker had been with me for quite some time—seen me through good times and bad, highs and lows (insert another random cliché here). It actually lasted way longer than I ever could have imagined. That is…until last week.
It had been running a tad slower lately, not quite at its full potential, its silver body vibrating in a way that was entirely abnormal. While funny noises had become pretty common as of late, a new noise presented itself about two weeks ago. And this noise? Well, let’s just say it was cause for concern. I described it to Megan as a cross between a 90-year-old chain smoker having an asthma attack and a six-year-old sucking on an empty juice box. Seriously. Imagine either of those scenarios and you have the noise. Totally not what you want to hear coming out from under your hood.
I did mention silver bullet was the nickname of my car, right? My bad.
(And don’t ask me why I named my car silver bullet. I really can’t remember. Honest. It was silver, but it sure as Hell didn’t look like a bullet. Not even close. A boat, maybe. A bullet? Nope. It wasn’t fast, either. I honestly have no recollection of where that name came from. Sorry to disappoint.)
So, yeah. My car died last week. On a day where everyone in my entire office had decided to leave early, I walked out to an empty parking lot, turned the key in the ignition and…nothing. Not even a click. I felt like a 15-year-old again, having to bum rides off of my mom and sister. Do you know how uncool it is to have your mother drop you off for work when you’re 25? Slightly embarrassing.
Thought, it’s not like I didn’t see this coming. My car is—and has been for a while now—an old, rumbling, silver piece of shit. My Dad joked that he always knew when I was coming home because he could hear my car grunting and croaking from a mile away, though now I’m not so sure whether or not he was really joking. But, knowing in the back of your head that sometime down the road—hopefully in the distant future when you’re more ready and have more money—your car is going to wheeze its last breath is a lot different than having your mechanic tell you, “Nope. It’s done. Wouldn’t fix it if I were you. It’s not worth it.”
Shit just got real. Right?
And that brings us to car shopping. Walking into that first dealership, I might as well have had a target on my forehead that screamed out, “I’m young! I know nothing about cars! I know nothing about financing! Please come and take advantage of me! Do I need to bend over?”
All I knew was that I wanted something small, with good gas mileage, maybe black in color, with a SYNC system of some sort. Because having a car that can play music and make voice activated calls thru a Bluetooth media stream is way more important than knowing anything about how the car actually runs. And if we’re being honest, the only reason I wanted a black car was because I wanted to name it Black Beauty. Priorities. Did I mention I know nothing about cars?
Thankfully, I had my family to help out. I didn’t end up with Black Beauty, though it does fit all my other criteria, so that’s a bonus. It also runs and doesn’t sound like a chain-smoker hacking up a hairball—another bonus. I also love saying the name—2011 Ford Fiesta. See, isn’t that word fun? Fiesta.
So, friends…say hello to my new friend, Silver Bullet 2.0:
And the sound? Well, it sounds a little bit like a ninja.
– lindsey archer