"Your Car Warranty Needs Attention!"

 Before I moved into my apartment over eleven years ago, there were two apartments vacant. I already knew I was going to get one of them, but wasn't sure which one. They were both nice, although I'm happy with the one I eventually got, number 4. But not knowing which one I was getting, I used the other apartment number when I made a change of address notice for the USPS. For eleven plus years the mail carrier has dutifully placed a junk mail notification in the wrong (right to him) mailbox. Various tenants have resided in Apartment 7, throughout the years, yet they all respectfully drop the letter in my box. The notice is from a car dealer service who informs me I need to update my vehicle information with them. I do not know this company nor have done business with it and yet they diligently inform me twice a year about my phantom car. I have not driven or owned a car since 2014.

I stopped driving because I was starting to get panic attacks. There would also be times when I would be driving home and my brain would be on auto pilot. I'd nearly be home and shakily ask myself, "How did I get here without killing myself or someone else?" Not only was I suffering from mental fatigue, I was spending far too much of my salary on maintenance and repairs. I remember one car dealership wanted $150 to replace a fuse. Knowing a little bit about cars, I knew it took two minutes to install the 50 cent part. I was tired of dealing with car mechanics who tried to scare me into repairs I didn't need. 

The last few years I owned a car, I lived in a building where there was only street parking, with alternate street parking during the Winter months. Unsurprisingly, someone eventually sideswiped my car. It was still drivable but looked like shit. It went well with the large ding in my driver's side door where a deer walked right into it. I was parked! I once woke in the middle of the night to see my downstairs neighbor standing on the hood of my car. I have nearly killed a cow, who escaped her barn and was roaming the country road in the dark. I've braked hard for a punk kid who decided to skateboarded through traffic. I witnessed with awe a beautiful white horse take a morning stroll in the fog. I was heading west while another driver who was heading east in his 1950's Chevy pickup stopped in the middle of the road and watched the horse nonchalantly clip-clop down the road. After the horse disappeared, the other driver gave me the thumbs up, smiled and drove away. I've had numerous encounters with road ragers in giant pick up trucks who didn't like that I obeyed the speed limit. They'd honk their horns, scream obscenities and give me the finger as they flew by. 

The straw that broke my back was when I walked to my car early one morning to go to work to find all four tires slashed. I turned around and went home. It sat parked there for weeks until the city towed it away. Surprisingly, the salvage yard paid me a few hundred dollars which I happily took. From then on I have used the train or the bus. I haven't missed driving at all. 

I do understand people who love their car and the independence it gives them. My grandfather who was 80 refused to stop driving even after he had somehow managed to destroy a fire hydrant and his car. I made the mistake of agreeing to take a trip to the hardware store with him one day. As he drove he would have one foot on the brake, the other on the gas. He'd speed up, then start to slow down then speed back up to 60, 70 in a forty mph zone. I was eight months pregnant at the time and thought I'd be giving birth in his carpenter tool box. His car was a part of his livelihood as he still took odd jobs. He finally realized (grandma may have intervened) he could no longer drive, or work and that was the beginning of his end. 

If I ever move I'm sure this company will follow me. I rarely get paper mail anymore so it's nice to be thought of, even by the concerned and ever diligent company looking to fleece me.