A Series of V's: Part I - Volvo on a Mission...to End my Sanity

I am really bad at resolutions. I mean, really bad. Look at this – the third blog in 2010. I had promised I would write one a week. What’s with me? Ugh. Well – I suppose I should cut myself a SMALL break since life has been pretty stressful over in Sleepy Hollow/Ossining/NYC/Las Vegas/Cayman Islands and various other pit stops which I will try to tell you stories about in the coming weeks. I can pretty much boil the stress of the past few months down to a few things, and somehow they all begin with V – perhaps a vendetta? Too coincidental not to be, I think.

The first V would be for Volvo…and I will leave this entry solely for that. In the coming blogs you’ll get to hear my rants about my other V gripes – and of course I will intersperse that with some happy thoughts, so as not to spread my cynicism TOO far and wide. (This plan of course being dependent on whether or not I can actually stick to my blogging resolution.) Just to tease you, some of the V's involved include Verizon, Vegas and venom. But for now, back to the number one V – yes, my trusty 1996 Volvo has betrayed me folks…and we’re still in a fight – a big one. And just as a warning, if you have ZERO interest in cars or car stories - this is not for you.

It all began about a month and a half ago when in the parking lot of Stop & Shop my car decided it would not like to start. With much persuasion, and coaching from the one and only Uncle Walter (he is THE Volvo man for those of you who didn’t know – and pretty much the greatest uncle ever), it started, but immediately stalled once I thought it might be nice to drive it instead of sitting there with it running in park. Then came the towing – to the Getty down the street where for the next week a dialogue – mostly in sophisticated Spanglish – took place between myself and “George” which went something like this:

Me: Hola George. Como esta mi auto?
George: It’s no ready yet.
Me: Ok. When – ur – cuando…ready?
George: Maybe today, maybe tomorrow.

After a few days, the car was finally “ready” after the team of mecanicos had determined my timing belt had jumped, for no particular reason. When I went to retrieve it, alas, it would not start again.

Guess it’s not ready, huh Jorge? I mean George.

George: Well, I tol you you need a tune-up.
Me: You didn’t tell me that George.
George: Yes, Willy say you need tune-up, new spark plug, wires…
Me: Well George, "Willy" didn’t tell me I need tune-up for mi auto to start!

I gave them the clearance to do the spark plugs and some other minor fix ups…the rest would be left for someone I could trust and knows what they are doing; aka Uncle Walter.

A week or two later, after a trip home to CT and a thorough investigation from UW, the car was driving well, everything seemed grand. So, imagine my surprise when on a Friday night, as I'm preparing to make the 45 minute trip to Queens for the weekend (with plans to leave from Dan's house on Sunday for JFK to Las Vegas) I'm driving at a steady 40 miles an hour, and my car starts bucking, is nearly going to stall or do something equally terrifying, and the Check Engine light begins to incessantly blink. Obviously Jorge and Willy's spark plugs didn't do the trick, and somehow managed to fool UW with a job that had masked whatever was the real problem. I decided it was time for the big guns: the White Plains Volvo shop.

After their professional investigation, they conclude, "You need new spark plugs." Might I remind you, I just got some 'a those. Reeeaaaaallllly would prefer NOT to buy more. This week.

Sighhh.

A mandatory consultation with UW, who also consulted with the White Plains Volov man, left me with no choice but to listen to him and let them do the spark plugs. Again. All was well...for a while....

One week later, as I'm again driving 40 miles an hour down this same road (adjacent to the cemetery which perhaps is some eerie sign), the car starts misbehaving again.

I immediately have a breakdown. Not the car. Me. Crying, panicking, hysterics, you name it. I am DONE with this car. I call UW, cry, complain, whine, etc. He is helpless as he is in CT and I am in NY. Neither of us have an answer.

So back to the Volvo dealer she went. They kept her for three days. Drove 70 miles. Nothing happened. I was left with no choice but to take her back into my rightful arms, though at this point those arms weren't exactly open and welcoming.

I've since had it for about two weeks - and while it has acted up slightly, it doesn't seem to want to show me what's really wrong. I'm beginning to feel like a player in a troubled relationship where an underlying massive issue looms, but the person having it is too afraid to say it aloud for fear of that problem becoming real and thus needing a solution. Maybe my Volvo is ready to quit on me, but she can't muster up the courage to say so.

Is it because I never gave you a name? If you're listening, I haven't quit you yet! (Though I must say you sure are testing me.)

If anyone HAS gotten through all of this and has any suggestions or knowledge of cars - I'm all ears.