Oh Sweet Hoopty

An open letter to my vehicular friend.

Today as I was driving you to work, I noticed you making an odd and rather unpleasant sound.

I’d like to attribute it to the early morning, because I know that you, like your owner, are not a fan of the cold morning hours.

But it would appear that this isn’t just a hazard of winter chill, because later in the day, when it was warm, you still made that sound.

Which means you have to go see our friend Tony, the trusty mechanic who has carefully protected and maintained you for all of your life.

But it’s more than that. Today, my checkbook lays open before you, at your mercy.

Please, please don’t crap out on me. I need you.

Sure, you’re almost eight years old, but remember the good times?

Remember how I purchased you in late 2001, the last wisp of the model year…the October right after the tragic September 11th when no one was buying cars?

You were the last (and best) of two remaining old model year cars. The end of an era too, as you are the last of your kind, they don’t make you anymore.

Remember how you were the only car the dealer had sold that month? We giggled together at the rockin’ deal I was able to negotiate so I could take you home?

Though almost eight years old now, you’ve been without a car payment for four years. And this is the heart of the issue, dear, sweet vehicle.

You see, times are a little rough. The economy is pretty bad, you know? I mean, hey, gas prices have improved, so that’s something. But Mr. Jones has stolen all my money. Ok, not all, but a good portion, and your humble owner is starting to freak out.

To be fair, so far, I’ve managed to keep a good job with a regular paycheck. And yes, I *could* swing $300 to $500 a month to make payments on a new, shiny car.

But I don’t want to.

That $300 to $500 a month could be better spent on things like food, you know, and uh, necessities of life.

Or, and here’s a fun thought, that $300 to $500 a month could be put in savings in an attempt to rebuild my sagging nest egg.

But these plans, this hope for the future depends on you.

Please, please keep it together. I’m going to take you to be fixed, yes. And I’m even willing to spend a little cash to get that done. But that means you have to help me back. You have to stay solid for a while after the repair.

If you start nickel and diming, or really five-hundred and thousanding me, I’m going to have to reconsider whether you are still a valuable part of the family.

I need you to continue to be the reliable, dependable vehicle you are.

Give me a couple more years, ok? Let me see if I can get my financial feet back under me and we’ll talk about retiring you to a nice life where you can wander the pastures and eat all the motor oil you’d like. But for now, I need you to stay solid and light on the pocketbook.

Plus, The Good Man says he doesn’t believe an American made car can go 100,000 miles. I think we can prove him wrong (only 15k to go!).

I believe in you, fabulous Jeep, now you have to believe in me too!

Not my actual hoopty, but a sibling of….

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