Welcome to the first installment of 20-Something Questions, a new feature here on The Crazy Chronicles. Every week, I’ll ask your favorite New Adult authors to answer one question. If you have a suggestion for a future topic, leave a comment and let me know. If you’re a New Adult author writing in any genre and want to participate in a future installment, click here to sign up.
This week’s topic:
Your First Car
What was your first car? Was it a beater or a sleek work of art? Did you have to save up for it or was someone kind enough to help you get it? Where is it now?
My first car was an ’88 Mazda 626. It was as old as I was, and it was a freakin’ tank. The first time I ever drove it, someone rear-ended me hard, but the only mark was a little dent in the bumper. I bought it from my friend who was going away to boot camp and needed to get rid of it. He only charged me $500. It ran well, but wouldn’t go into park and had all kinds of weird electrical issues. I had to park it by putting it into neutral and setting the e-brake. Every night, I had to disconnect the battery so that I wouldn’t wake up to a dead car.
It got me back and forth to classes at the community college I was enrolled in, though. I had it for a few years before I had to upgrade. I sold it to a guy in my neighborhood who I think was using it for spare parts. That thing was such a lemon but I loved it.
My first car was a 1984 Honda Accord and it was most certainly not a sleek work of art! I had to wiggle some cables in the engine before it would start. It was craziness! Oh, and the trunk wouldn’t lock so I used rope to keep it from flying open when I was driving and one time it flew open and I freaked out, nearly had a heart attack. The poor thing finally stopped running and I can’t remember what happened to it. After it died I didn’t have a car for a while and I had to take the bus and Metro everywhere I went.
I am not a car person. Never have been. I started to learn as a teenager, but after an incident involving my wing mirror and someone else’s wing mirror, I decided that driving was not for me.
This all changed in my late twenties, when my wife announced she was expecting our first child. I had to learn how to drive—who else was going to get her to the hospital when the time came? I swallowed my fears, strapped myself into my wife’s inconspicious yellow Vauxhalt Corsa, and dragged myself through the process of learning to drive as an adult.
I passed my driving test one month before my daughter was born.
My father-in-law drove us to the hospital.
Tune in next Monday for a brand new installment of 20-Something Questions!