My Little Quack

I've had a 2003 Toyota Echo for the past eight years and driven it well over 100,000 miles.  Its name is Quack, because at the time I bought it, I believed the only sound in nature that didn't echo was a duck's quack.  I later found out that's an urban legend and was quite embarrassed that I'm so easily duped.  I mean, why the hell wouldn't a duck's quack echo?  But urban legends are funny like that.  Someone makes up something ridiculous, tells other people, and they tell other people, and soon enough it's common knowledge.

"Your silly beliefs fill us with shame."

However, by the time I found out that quacks echo, Quack had been Quack for years, so I decided to stick with the name.

Quack gets excellent gas mileage, fits in tiny parking spaces, and hardly ever gives me any trouble.  The only issue with my car is that it's so narrow, tall, and lightweight that it acts kind of like a sail in heavy winds.  In fact, a strong enough gust can blow it all the way over into the next lane of traffic.  But, hey - that just keeps things interesting.

Last weekend, some dumbass shithead rear ended my beloved Quack (injuring my poor husband in the process), then took the coward's route and drove off.  Since then, said dumbass shithead (I'll call him D.a.s.h. for short) has taken no responsibility for the accident, while I've had to deal with cops, insurance companies, mechanics, and the DMV.  Meanwhile, it appears that D.a.s.h. - utilizing the brilliant strategy of ignoring cops & insurance agents until they go away - is going to get off scot-free.

If the arms were ten million times longer, this would reflect my true feelings for D.a.s.h.

The problem with having this happen when I'm unemployed is that I have way too much time to feel enraged about the situation.  My thoughts are mired in the icky, gooey tar of righteous fury and helplessness, and I don't have the option of throwing all of my energy into work, which is usually a convenient distraction at times like this.  So instead I find myself drowning in crappy thoughts like:  D.a.s.h. thinks he can pull this bullshit and get away with it because he CAN!  He's fully supported by a culture of selfishness and unaccountability!  He's probably sitting at home laughing at me RIGHT NOW!  AAAAHHHHH!!!  Die, D.a.s.h.!  DIE!

And yes, that train of thought leads to some pretty unpleasant revenge fantasies that spew out liberally in all directions.  I want to go to D.a.s.h.'s house and smash his car to shit with a baseball bat.  I want to use my slingshot to peg the roofer next door with a rock because he's making too much noise.  I want to punch every white male I see in the head, because D.a.s.h. is a white male, and I'm convinced they're all in cahoots.  Even in my most benevolent fantasies, I imagine myself wandering around town, smacking these stickers on people's cars:

You know you're in a poor state of mind when you want to threaten families for no reason

To keep myself from dwelling endlessly in this draining and not-particularly-helpful mindset, I decided to shift my focus to my new pal, gratitude, and upon brief reflection, I realized I'm very grateful for these things:

1. I have a good car.
2. Quack escaped the accident relatively unscathed.
3. When purchasing a car, in no way did I factor in any need or desire to obtain a "status symbol" type vehicle.  If my car had cost a kabillion dollars, I'd probably be even more pissed off about this situation.  

In fact, there are lots of reasons I'm happy I don't have one of those "status symbol" type cars.  In stark contrast to Quack, those cars not only cost a shit ton, but they also tend to have terrible gas mileage, huge repair bills, and get stolen a lot.  So while their owners hope they exude the message:  "My owner totally rocks!" these cars are actually saying:  "My owner makes bad decisions!"

Hey, check out my ridiculous car!  It looks like a battleship!  I'm the King of Stupidville!

I generally don't take the status symbol factor into account when making purchases, not only because I can't afford to (which I can't), but primarily because I don't agree with all that crap.  If someone were to ask me to name something that truly signifies one's success as a human being, I would say this:  "Kids and dogs are happy to see you."  Because if kids and dogs get all squealy, wiggly and excited when you come around, you're doing something right.  Next to that, cars, clothes, jewelry, tech gear, home decor, and all that other crap are pretty damn meaningless.  And you know who I bet kids and dogs are NEVER happy to see?  Who causes them to cry, growl, tuck their tails and run away?  D.a.s.h.  That's who.  Rotten, good-for-nothing bastard.

Speaking of dogs and status symbols (and in the interest of concluding on a more positive note), I don't believe it's a sign of personal success to own a hamster-sized dog so you can carry it around in a gaudy, $20,000 handbag.  A good dog looks like this:

A good dog helps you do your homework and looks super cute doing it