That is the sound my 2001 VW Jetta is making. As soon as I turn the ignition it roars to life, scaring the snot out of pedestrians and slumbering old people in their homes. The sound is deafening inside the car, my seat vibrates when I accelerate; I can't hear my children speaking to me from the back seat. OK, maybe that part is not so bad.
Yeah, it's time for some exhaust work on the old girl. She's got 161,000 miles and has been crazy dependable. But she sounds terrible and I am mortified to be driving her around. Mor-ti-fied.
So why am I? We have three vehicles -- the Jetta, a Saturn Coupe, and a Ford F-150. Couldn't I just swap the car seats to the Saturn and call it a day?
Well, the Saturn is sitting dead in our driveway, an expensive lawn ornament at the moment. The starter is out and, since Scott doesn't mind driving the truck, we've kinda let it sit there for a couple of months because we didn't really need to fix it.
Naturally the local Ford dealer won't touch the Jetta. And the earliest appointment available at the VW dealer Scott prefers is next Tuesday afternoon. I'm not sure if he'll agree to take the car to the other dealer, his opinion of them is pretty low.
So, in the mean time, I drive around town in the loudest car I've ever driven, refusing to make eye contact with people I know, ashamed to be driving something so uncouth, so rough and uncivilized. The campus I work on employs many people I like who are as green as Kermit, and I drive past them, chugging loudly up the ridiculous hills next to campus, and willing myself to look like another person, terrified of being recognized.
Oh, I am sure that there are likely a few testosterone-mesmerized teens out there who think I might have created this monstrosity intentionally with hot-rod mufflers and glass packs, but nope. It's just me, the weary mom of two pulling up in a fuel-efficient and nerdy import.
If you hear me coming, and I'm sure you will, please be decent enough to pretend you didn't notice me, that's all I ask.