I haven’t had the best luck lately with vehicle ownership. In fact, last week I said goodbye to my beloved Forester for the last time.

As I was thinking back on it, I realized that I’ve had interesting stories with each of my modes of transportation, so please allow me to paint you a picture of what it’s like to be a car in my care.

Picture this in silver, and that was my car

My first car was a hand-me-down 1989 Pontiac Grand AM that used to be my dad’s. That car was tough – it had gone into the ditch numerous times in the winter after skidding off the road, it had taken out a deer and lived to tell the tale with just a dent on the roof to show for it. It had taken a beating, and kept on ticking.

Until I got it.

Granted, being my first car, there were bound to be some mishaps. Like the time I accidentally almost knocked the passenger side view mirror off parking it in the garage, or the time I slid it into a parked car coming down an icy hill. But that was child’s play compared to the time it literally SHUT OFF when I was driving on the freeway at 60 mph. I imagine my face looked something like this:

Thankfully, I didn’t die, as I’m pretty sure ghosts can’t blog from beyond the grave, but needless to say it was a terrifying experience that I didn’t want to repeat. Pretty sure I stopped driving it after that.

The Grand Am was later sold, then bought back years later to be my younger sisters first vehicle. I’m not sure when it was finally put out to pasture.

Stay tuned for Part Two: The Chevy Lumina.

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