Instruments Of The Devil

We find our heroine wandering lost in an unfamiliar and hostile wilderness, full of deadly snakes and cunning predators lurking about, skulking in the shadows...

That is how this story began for me, on the night Joe wrecked our poor, defenseless Buick.  Fear not, he was uninjured, nor was anyone else hurt.  The only casualty was our car. If anyone out there ever experienced the complete and sudden loss of a vehicle, then there is deep understanding for the surreal events that follow.  The sick twisting of my stomach was to be a repeat occurrence for the next several weeks as I tried to muddle my way through the complicated dance that needed to be performed just to get him to both his jobs.  The flood of money that had to be doled out immediately for gas to other vehicles because of the closed Ambridge Bridge was an utter shock to our delicate financial circumstance.  This, however, was not the most difficult part of the journey, nay; that would come in the form of a local auto body/towing company with sinister and greedy motives, and thus I met my first foe.

A rather corrosive person apparently heads this organization, this den of thieves, and their favorite prey seems to be the easy pickings of a person in a mild state of trauma, one who cannot rightly defend himself at the time.  They seem to be partial to the taste of money, thus are adept at profiting from the misfortunes of others.  My conversation with the lead villain was laden with epithets, admittedly on both ends of the line, and plenty of raised voices.  I sparked off the exchange by speaking the absolute truth-we are broke, we will never have that large of a sum of money (300 dollars) at one time, our car is now gone, and we cannot just waltz in to a place and purchase another (all I can advise is never get sick, never use credit cards, and never pay your mortgage or rent late, ever), and I did not appreciate the shakedown.  I believe it was that specific word that triggered such a visceral response from the beast.  I received a resounding admonishment for expecting people to work for free, to which I replied that was not really the case, I simply felt the fee was excessive, considering the condition of the car and the fact that we did not have the money.  I wanted to know why Joe could not have his work thermos and his shaver from the vehicle.  I was told we would go in there and rip out the radio, pull off the tires, strip the car.  I was stunned that this creature would think of us in such an ill favor, but realized it may not know of our character and our honest nature.  I attempted to explain that the age and condition of our car (pre-wreck) should not dictate an opinion of us, that we were not of that ilk.  This warranted another lengthy lecture on morality, to which I did not take kindly.  I know of right and wrong, and to me, what this entity was trying to do to us was wrong, and perhaps immoral, as well.  One should not reap benefits from another person's misery!  Threats were made about involving magistrates, a situation I would almost like to see.  It seemed fair, since we could not come to any sort of civil arrangement.  Plus, I find it difficult to strike deals with demonic forces.  There is just no telling where that would lead, and I would have bigger beasts to face down soon.

There is an entire offshoot of demonology called "used car sales".  The foul creatures that wallow in this muck pit are the lowest, the most desperate for souls, and the most cunning.  We came in contact with a very clever one indeed, a quick talking, overly friendly, ridiculously optimistic harpy with grand expectations of ensnaring us in an endless nightmare web of crushing debt and expensive car repairs on top of absurdly high monthly payments, all while speaking exuberant falsities praising her den's fine choice of quality vehicles.  While far from a mechanic, I certainly have experienced enough car malfunctions in my driving years to recognize cars on their last legs.  The first one never made it out of the parking spot.  It made such a horrid, loud rattle upon start-up, I insisted Joe leave it where it was and move on.  The next car could barely make it up a hill from a stop, and when it did, a puff of radiator fluid vapor filled the air around us.  I limped it back down the hill and tossed her back the keys with a vehement shake of my head.  She was getting a bit irritated, I could see.  I asked to try a third steed, and though it was a good running nag, it had seen better, much younger days.  The miles on her heart were many, far too many to justify the 14,000 dollar price tag.  In fact, each broken down mare was grossly overpriced.  I had satisfied myself and calmly walked in to drop off the last key.  With a smile and a phony sense of sorrow, I declined the offer of 700 dollars for the first 2 months, followed by several years of 350 dollars a month.  Desperation can make a person behave quite foolishly, but I am a veteran of many a desperate situation, and calmness overtakes me first.  I zone out and focus and go numb to the noise around me in order to conduct business like the professional I am.  The demon's disappointment and thinly veiled wrath were evident, but I vanquished her by merely turning my back to her and walking away.

The world of used cars is a hopeless cesspool for the dregs of humanity to rot in and drag others in with them.  There is treachery and deception at every turn, and one must be ever vigilant.  It seems nothing brings out the worst in a society than the value or lack of value of a car.  For some reason, we kept being treated like our car was a burden, an expensive, inconvenient problem, though the cars we saw and drove that were for sale were in not much better condition, but worth gold bricks.  It's a topsy-turvy circus, full of glitz and glimmer and fairy promises.  But once you peek behind the curtain, all you see is decay, dishonesty, horror.  I felt my private place of happy crumbling, felt the invasion of nastiness.  My view of the world around me was forever changed.  I felt the old, familiar pull to withdraw, to pull back and hole up and wait out the storm in my shelter.  I fought to resist it, because once I get sucked into the warm, comfy arms of security, I never want to leave them.  It took me a life time to wrest from the bear hug of safety and find the bravery to face the peril of the outside world, and I knew if I gave that up, there would be no coming out of it again.

In addition, I was growing weary.  The first car-less week, the onus of transportation fell solely on my shoulders.  This involved getting up in the dark of the morn (5:00 am) and driving forever to Sewickley to drive back to Hopewell.  The traffic on the way back was much worse, so I began driving to Monaca instead to get home.  Then, I had to drive this again to get him and take him to his night job by the Airport, and another trip to Monaca to get home.  Then, a pick-up at 11:30 pm and another long drive home.  Rinse, lather, repeat.  By the end of 2 days, I was spent, emotionally, physically, and every other ly you can think of.  Joe may be able to function on such a low level of sleep, but I cannot.  I would cry endlessly for no reason, just from utter exhaustion and frustration.  Thankfully, a friend came through and gave me some reprieve.  I vowed to get myself out of this loop for good somehow.  So, I hit Facebook and rallied the troops and got things more or less in order.  I set into motion several plans to get us back on the road and by the second week, things were humming again.  I had defeated the final enemy-my own inner fears and mental torment.

It's still an uphill struggle.  Some days, things go wrong (today Joe's morning ride left early and without him) and some days I have to work some magic to get things done.  Shopping is tough, but as long as I stay flexible, it gets taken care of.  And I'm still working through my own sets of emotions over the whole affair as I categorize things and muse over what I've seen and experienced.  I go through quick moments of anger, at the sleaziness of the outside world, at Joe's carelessness, at the situation in general.  I go through times of peace and acceptance for what it is-another one of life's little tragedies to deal with, a nuisance rather than a catastrophe.  I go through restless days of worry tinged with the artist's tendency to brood.  I go through ups and downs and ride this car-free world in my head, where horse-drawn carriages and steam trains travel instead, and wish for simpler times.

My grandfather said, famously, that cars were instruments of the devil.  I believe that almost religiously.   Whatever relationship I start off with one, it always ends in evil-either by sucking every dime of money from me, or by falling into a hopeless state of disrepair, or with a dramatic smashing of the poor thing.  Me?  I prefer my own feet, for I am used to standing on firm ground, and do not like to be rattled around in a death trap, if I can avoid it.  Besides, how else do you get to know the road you're on unless your own feet are on it?

Love and light, my beloved pit crew,
Tanya Waschak