i get nervous when my dad looks at my car. even when he's just trying to diagnose a problem and not actually trying to fix it, i still get kind of anxious. my dad's the kind of guy that knows what he's doing when it comes to cars, but still somehow ends up with 'extra parts' left over after performing a repair or will take care of one problem and then inadvertently cause three much more serious problems. once, he changed my spark plugs and then we couldn't get the car to start for about two hours, making me late for a very important night of sitcoms and nachos with my cousin. another time, an oil change somehow resulted in a flat tire. later, refilling break fluid caused the power steering to act up and a bag of clothes to mysteriously disappear from my trunk. once, my dad just put his elbow on the arm rest and, boom, the cd player started skipping. he also cracked the case of my elvis costello cd, but i think that was mainly due to the weight of his arm on said arm rest, inside which was resting the elvis cd and also a pair of salad tongs.

yesterday we popped the hood because i have several things going wrong with the old cavvy. despite my anxieties over having my dad inspect my auto, i still let him do it. this is because i feel that his poorly executed knowledge is better than my complete lack of it. "so, what do you think?" i asked, biting my lip. "should i just buy a new car? start over fresh?"

"what you want to ask yourself," my dad said wisely, "is what will be the cheapest way for you to continue driving this year. will it be buying a new car... or getting a few things fixed?"

"like, what few things?"

he then rattled off a list of problems that he surmised from a quick once over, using words that i suspected were imaginary. i could see myself at the mechanic's, holding a hastily scrawled upon post-it note and asking, "yeah, is there anything you could about the 'riggamajigger?' what about the 'motorduck?'" i listened intently as he gave me a rough estimate of what i could expect to pay.

"parts might cost a total of about two hundred dollars. with labor?" my dad rubbed his chin, calculating with blinks and nose wrinkles. "well, with labor, it may cost you about four grand. but that's still more cost effective than buying a new car, right?"

"how do you figure?"

"i don't. in fact, i have no idea." he slammed the hood down and we stood there in the driveway. the air around us was silent except for the sounds of my frustrated sobs and occasional curse words. car problems upset me to a degree that is completely unreasonable; when something goes wrong with a transmission or radiator or steering alignment or even if i just spill a bag of cheetos in the back seat, i come to the conclusion that everything is pointless, that maybe there is no god, that i should just cut my legs off now because i certainly don't need them for driving my no-good-piece-of-crap poop mobile. i feel that somebody out there really hates me and is trying to make my life miserable for a reason unbeknownst to me, like maybe the bad karma i recieved from breaking the washing machine at my apartment complex, and then just slinking away like nothing had happened, like i'd never been there in the first place, like i didn't even own clothes that needed to be washed. damn. when car problems pop up, i'm ready to lay down and admit defeat.

"give me some good news," i pleaded to my father. "tell me that this will cost little to nothing to fix or that i'll go home and there will already be a financed new car waiting for me in the parking lot."

"i can certainly give you some good news," my dad assured me. "whatever you do, it will cost less than buying a private jet."

champagne all around.