A Small But Satisfying Milestone

            You don’t need me to tell you that people can become quite attached to their cars. I’ve never been any kind of gearhead, but I am certainly attached to mine. It’s not fancy, it’s nothing visually impressive, and I haven’t named it or refer to it as a certain gender (such as “she’s sounding good today”) but I love my car. For the most part, it’s loved me back.

            I drive a 2002 Pontiac Grand Am. I bought it new. It’s nine years old now, and on a rural road in Indiana Sunday it turned 200,000 miles. I have been behind the wheel for almost every one of them.

Hell yeah I stopped and took a pic

            When I bought it in May of 2002 it was smooth and stylish, that new car smell  making me feel like a king whenever I got in it (I don’t know what it is about that smell, but it’s one of the most satisfying scents there is). Plus, it replaced a Geo Metro, so you know I was excited to have a car that didn’t require putting a third hamster on the wheel if I wanted to get on the interstate.

            At first it was just an around-town car. I lived in Indianapolis at the time and worked in the wrestling business as a referee for a couple of local promotions. Soon, however, I would hook on with a couple of companies in the Louisville area, and that’s when my car and I really got to know each other. By making weekly and sometimes twice-weekly trips down I-65 to Louisville and back to do shows, the odometer started spinning and I began recognizing employees of the various truck stops on the way. Over the years I’ve figured I’ve made that 130-mile drive about 400 times. It got to the point I was making those drives on autopilot basically. It felt like if I got in the car and pointed it toward Louisville it would just find its way there.

            The seat molded to me. I got the seat back’s angle perfect. Passengers would be amazed how close I’d get to things when moving around parking lots, but my car and I had established trust in one another. I knew exactly where it would fit and where it wouldn’t, and exactly what turning radius I needed.  I received XM Radio as a gift and felt settled in listening to music as I made longer treks. It certainly came in handy on those long drives to Paducah (5.5 hours each way from Indy through Louisville to pick up the rest of the guys) or Madison, TN  (about 5 hours each way).

            It also gave me the feeling of happiness that only comes with sending that very last payment check in and then, a week or so later, opening an envelope to find a title stating it’s yours and yours alone.

            I’ve gotten in and out of it so many times I wore my first key down. Sliding it in and out of the lock and ignition ground it down until it would set off the theft-deterrent system because it was worried someone was trying to steal it.

Through all that, it’s been a good car. Its design has aged well. There are younger cars that look a lot more dated to me. A steady diet of oil changes and fresh air filters certainly helped keep it humming. It’s on its second fuel pump, second windshield (after a huge metal nut was shot out from under a semi’s tire and cracked it a few years ago) and fourth set of brakes. But all things considered, it’s given me precious little trouble over the years. It doesn’t even bother me that it’s too old to worry about how fast to run its fan. The air conditioner/heater is either on full blast or completely off these days, but I can live with a touch of eccentricity in my car.

            It’s also been very patient with me. I am sad to admit I’ve been behind the wheel a few times when I probably shouldn’t have.  A few times someone else has had to drive it, and it’s spent a few nights parked out in front of a bar waiting for me and my hangover to come back and retrieve it. One morning I even returned to the New View parking lot to find the words “Bite Me” next to the drawing of a cherry on the back window in red lipstick. To this day my friends and I have no explanation for that one.

            Bar parking lots have not been good to it, to be perfectly honest. It got hit hard enough once by someone to punch a hole in the back bumper. I managed to fix that myself. It still has some scratches on the trunk from when someone left a bar, looked at it and apparently thought “Hey, a black car, just what we need,” and proceeded to cut a few lines of cocaine on it with a credit card. For obvious reasons, it was very happy when I decided to drastically cut down on my drinking.

            The best thing I can say about my car is that I still look forward to a long road trip in it. It has a good history. It has heard a lot of laughter on the road with its seats full of wrestlers headed off to shows, and heard plenty of talk of trades, batting orders and pitching rotations on rides to Cincinnati to see the Cubs play. It has rolled through the Smoky Mountains, down through Georgia to Florida without complaint and has endured ice storms, snows and torrential rain. It shrugged that off like a good Midwesterner should.

            It may not be brand new and may not be as pretty as it used to be, but I’m going to drive that car as long as it lets me. We've driven the equivalent of eight trips around the equator together. We trust each other, we know each other, and that driver-side seat is still the most comfortable one I know of. 

Time

            Whoever you may be as you read this, you don’t need me to tell you that priorities can change in an instant. I thought the biggest worry I’d have this week was trying to find a new job in what is still a fairly lousy job market. As it turns out, that wasn’t close to correct.

For the first time, I filed for unemployment Monday. Friday had gone quietly as had the rest of my last week at work. Several people said goodbye, and some seemed to avoid me, like being laid off was communicable. I packed up my stuff from my desk. I didn’t have much, just a picture of my nephew, a couple of knick knacks some thank you cards a few members of my crew had given me.

            I walked out the door, across the street and out to the parking lot feeling empty. I had done an exit meeting that Tuesday, which gave me the documents I’d need to file for unemployment, which I could do Monday. I saw those sitting on the passenger seat and tried not to think about it too much. I did my usual trip to Barnes and Noble, read my usual magazines, drank my usual summertime iced coffee order, looked at the usual history, biography and sports sections of the store and headed home a few hours later. I did my best to make it a normal weekend.

            Monday morning I checked my email, saw no messages from prospective employers but no rejection messages either, and headed to the WorkOne office. They had me fill out a two-sided form that reminded me of when you visit a new doctor or dentist. I gave them all the vital info as well and gory details of why I was there. After that it operated a lot like a license branch. A number was called and I approached a woman sitting at a computer, who typed in my information, gave me a card with a few websites listed on it as well as a couple of brochures about their work training programs.

            After that she sent me to a desk lined with computers where I could officially file. It took about fifteen minutes, and they had a couple of very friendly people walking around helping out the folks who had any trouble. I have to admit, from what I saw they ran a pretty efficient office there.

The woman assisting the applicants told me I’d have to apply for three jobs a week or do job searches a few times a week, and that looking anywhere in the United States was acceptable. I knew that would be no problem whatsoever.  I’d already compiled a list of places from careerbuilder in a couple of different states.

            She said it would be a couple of weeks before I knew how the claim came out, meaning I would have no idea how much my maximum or weekly benefits would be. I’ll have to spend the next couple of weeks in the dark budget-wise. I finished filling it out and thanked them. As I walked back to my car I tried to think of what I could do the rest of the day. I felt lost, and I hated the feeling.

            I went to the public library, but the sign on the door said they were temporarily closed due to sewage issues. I take sewage issues fairly seriously so I headed on home. I scoured some sites again, saved a few jobs in Texas that looked promising, and otherwise allowed myself an some time to lay around and feel sorry for myself.

            More resumes were sent out Tuesday, and more waiting ensued. Each day is a cycle of searching, applying, and waiting for my phone to light up, or a (1) to appear in my email inbox that will being interested from someone. I fiddle with cover letters, nitpick my resume, and hope.

            In the meantime, I tried to write, I tried to see friends, I tried to get to the gym. I continue to try to live my life normally and I try extremely hard not to take all this personally. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I don’t.

            On Wednesday morning, my phone did light up. It was my mom, who was traveling with my stepfather in Michigan, visiting good friends. As it turned out, my stepfather had run into some health issues and was going to be in the hospital a few days. He was all right. The doctors knew what was wrong and how to treat it, and things were already looking better by the time mom got hold of me. I thanked her for letting me know what was happening and asked her to keep me updated.

            My stepfather is the best man I know. Hearing he was experiencing more health problems made me pause. I sat outside on my balcony and thought for a while. He’s my rock, the person I turn to when I need advice. Every day I struggle, every day I can’t find a new job, every time I come up short when it comes to relationships or otherwise in day to day life, I feel like I’m disappointing him. I can’t stand that thought, but I feel it every day.

So I’m grateful to the doctors for taking good care of him, because I need him. My mom, his wife of 27 years, needs him. My sister and my nephew need him. His kids and grandchildren from his first marriage need him. My stepfather is a tough man. I feel confident he’ll be all right and keep on going, because that’s what he does.

As for me, I need that time. I need that time to get back on track and make him proud of me again. Somehow. Some way.

We all just need some time.