Four strikes and you get a brand new car | PostIndependent.com
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Four strikes and you get a brand new car

Fried rice
Heidi Rice
Glenwood Springs, CO Colorado

“That’s it,” Husband-Head said the other evening when he came home from work, slamming the door behind him. “I’m getting a new car.”

Husband-Head isn’t usually so grumpy when he comes in and I tried not to laugh.

“Ummm…the traditional greeting is ‘Hi!’ or “Honey, I’m home!'” I suggested.



But despite his bad mood, the dogs were still wriggling out of their skins with excitement to see him.

“How can you be cranky when you get a welcome home greeting like that?” I pointed out. “What’s the matter, anyway?”



“The brakes in the car are now making a hideous sound,” Husband-Head said with exasperation. “I’ve had it with that car.”

The poor Chevy Cavalier.

When we bought it five years ago, it was fine. It was basically a commuter car to get Husband-Head back and forth to work each day. It wasn’t fancy, but it was in good shape, had a radio and CD player, cruise control and air conditioning ” all the basic necessities Husband-Head likes.

However, the Cavalier had, shall we say, some bad “juju” connected to it.

The first week we had it, I drove it to the grocery store and was waiting behind a large truck to turn out of the parking lot.

Unfortunately, the driver of the large truck obviously did not seem to know the difference between the letter “D” and the letter “R” on the gear shift and proceeded to back right into our new car.

Husband-Head was away on a business trip at the time and I had the fun task of telling him that we now had a big ding on the front end.

“You should not drive,” Husband-Head summed up. “Whenever you drive, something bad happens.”

My best friend, Marianne, used to say the same thing. “I know you can’t drive at night because you can’t see, but I wouldn’t drive with you even during the day.”

And this wasn’t even my fault!

A couple of months later, Husband-Head went to the grocery store and while he was gone, some other guy not only hit the Cavalier, but drove up onto its front end.

While the man was gracious about providing his insurance information and we were paid for the damage, Husband-Head is still paranoid whenever he sees the man’s vehicle when we go to the grocery store.

“He’s out to get me!” Husband-Head will say, parking the Cavalier as far away as possible from the other guy’s car in the grocery store parking lot.

Husband-Head always tries to be a good citizen, which is why he and a co-worker began car-pooling, taking turns leaving their cars at a local park-and-ride to try and save money and help the environment.

“I don’t understand people,” Husband-Head lamented when he came home one evening, looking rather dejected. “Someone broke in and took out the driver’s side lock and stole the stereo out of the car while it was in the parking lot today!”

Not long after that, Husband-Head was sitting at work and happened to look out the window from his office.

From there, he witnessed a delivery truck plow right into the back of his Cavalier.

“This is becoming almost comical,” he said, when he called to tell me. “I don’t think we should even get it fixed ” this car is obviously an accident magnet.”

Enter the theme song from “The Twilight Zone” with Rod Serling…

Most recently, a sweet elderly couple driving by stopped in the street while Husband-Head was outside in the yard to tell him how much they enjoyed this column.

Then they accidentally hit the Cavalier.

When Husband-Head came inside to tell me, all I could do was laugh.

“OK, go ahead and get a new car,” I agreed, after hearing about the brakes.

Husband-Head then began bombarding me with emails featuring new and used cars that – in his mind ” he thought would be a good buy.

“How about this one?” I asked, pointing to an ad in the newspaper and trying to give my input.

“No,” Husband-Head said firmly. “We are not getting a little white Porsche Boxster.”

Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to mind several years ago when I sent you to Wal-Mart to get yourself some sock and undies and you came back with a black convertible Mazda Miata…

In the end, we purchased a nice Pontiac from a local dealer.

“But you’re not allowed to drive it to the grocery store because I know that guy is still out to get me,” Husband-Head warned.

Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her columns runs every Friday. Her book of column collections, “Skully Says SHUT IT!” is available at the Post Independent or by visiting her web site at http://www.heidirice.com.


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