Writing last week’s post about being cold, reminded me of a car my wife and I once had. I should point out that we haven’t always had the best of luck when it comes to vehicles. And this particular vehicle, a Pontiac 6000, was exceptionally problematic.

There’s an old saying that goes, “If it don’t come easy, let it go.” We should’ve heeded this warning. Just buying the car was a chore in and of itself. It took the better part of a month due numerous delays from everything imaginable, from the dealership to the bank. But we were persistent because it was such a good deal—or so we thought.

We paid $3,500 for the four-year-old car with relatively few miles on it. But that, as we discovered, was just the initial buy-in fee. And what we bought into was a classic money pit. This car was a lemon of the sourest variety—and a very expensive one at that.

From the moment we drove off the lot, the car began having problems. Some were small and rather insignificant, others were major. The cost of the car immediately began to skyrocket. In the four years we owned the vehicle, we replaced nearly everything that could be replaced; alternator, regulator, power steering pump, injectors, air conditioner, master cylinders, wheel cylinders, wheel bearings, the list goes on and on—and on. We also had to do major repairs to the transmission and engine, multiple times.

I used to spend practically every weekend working on that car, fixing something, and then hoping it would run for another week. Usually, it didn’t. Yes, this vehicle was the source of much frustration; exasperating is what it was.

But perhaps the most annoying feature was the car had no heater—and we lived in Wyoming and then Wisconsin. In case you aren’t aware, it gets down right cold in both of those states. Neither are the place to be in the winter with no heater in the car.

I guess I should clarify what I mean by no heater. When the outside temperature is -25 degrees or colder, and the car is blowing out air at 0 degrees, technically, that would be a heater. But that is a rather meaningless, and ultimately useless, technicality.

Of course, I tried to fix it. I bought several new thermostats, flushed the cooling system several times, replaced the radiator (twice), and installed a new water pump as well as a new heater core. Nothing made a difference. We finally decided that as long as we had that car we were going to freeze in the winter.

Once we were finally able to trade it off, just for fun, I compiled a list of all the parts I’d replaced or repaired, and then listed the price. Adding it up, I found the total was over $10,000! Our $3,500 car had cost us $13,500. No, that didn’t include regular maintenance items like tires and brakes.

After this aggravating experience, I decided I was through buying used cars and our next vehicle purchase was a brand new pickup—a pickup that lasted exactly eleven days before the ignition broke. Like I said, we’ve not always had the best of luck when it comes to cars.

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice President of Rave Reviews Book Club http://ravereviewsbynonniejules.wordpress.com

SPOTLIGHT Author

Harmony Kent
The Glade

I’m seriously concerned about my wife. I’m afraid she is losing it. Now, that might be nothing new, after all, she did marry me, so her judgment may have never been that sound. But in this specific instance I’m referring to the frigid weather that most of the country is currently experiencing. She was quite happy at the prospect of an early winter and looking forward to the snow. Actually excited at the thought. Giddy almost.

As for me, I could most certainly do without the cold and the snow. Or, winter in general for that matter. Why? Because I don’t like the cold. What’s wrong with summer?

With the early Artic blast, my wife and I have already had a couple of heated discussions regarding the weather this year. These discussions typically leave me out in the cold—or inside in the cold since our house is usually not the warmest place on Earth. As I’ve mentioned before, we have to be the only house in the state that routinely runs the air conditioner in December! And it’s not like we live in Hawaii or Florida. You can see why I’m concerned about her state of mind.

While writing this post, I took a gander at the thermometer and it is a whopping five degrees outside. I know, five degrees isn’t really all that cold compared to the temperature elsewhere. But where I live, it’s cold. (My wife’s opinion not withstanding).

Yes, I have felt colder temperatures. Much colder. Many times. Forty below and worse, and I’m not talking wind-chill. However, that little fact doesn’t make the five degrees feel any warmer. It is still cold. Too cold.

I am aware that technically, there is no such thing as cold. Cold is merely the absence of heat. Scientifically that is true, but no one has ever explained that to my toes. They are simply cold. As is the rest of me. I could definitely use a little global warming right now.

But my wife, she loves it. She claims it’s due to being form the Northland. I’m afraid the real reason is her brain cells are slowly disappearing. I mean what else could explain why, as a grown woman, she wants to be outside playing in the snow—and wondering why I have no desire to join her. The reason is simple; because I’m COLD!

SPOTLIGHT Author

Harmony Kent
The Glade

What do truck drivers do on a long weekend? Take a road trip, of course. At least that’s what I seem to do. Quite often, actually.

This past weekend, a three-day weekend, my wife and I went to visit our son in Idaho. We took along one of our daughters and her one-year-old son. I’d forgotten how much fun it can be to travel with a baby. And I don’t mean that facetiously. It brought back a lot of memories from when my kids were little.

This wasn’t an activity filled vacation but we did make a visit to the zoo—for the grandkid. Now, as far as I’m concerned, the only reason to go to the zoo in the first place is the monkeys. If the monkey’s shenanigans are in full swing, I could spend the entire time just watching them. In fact, I’d be perfectly happy to let everyone else make the rounds to see the rest of the animals and come back to let me know when they’re done.

On this particular visit, I was lucky. There was one monkey who seemed to take an interest in me and we had quite the conversation going—sort of, the monkey didn’t do a whole lot of talking. But he did respond when I talked. When I told him he should move from the back of the cage to the front, he actually did. And then, he stayed there for a while staring back at us, making faces. Really! I’d ask him questions and he’s respond with some facial contortion. When I asked if he was lonely in the cage all by himself, he hung his head and covered his face with his hands.

As a kid, I always wanted a monkey of my own—my own little home-entertainment system. As you can imagine, my parents were not thrilled with the idea. And no, I never got one.

I did know a guy once who owned several monkeys and he swore they make the best pets. According to him, they enjoy clowning around, are fond of playing tricks, and respond well to human interaction. Just what I need! He also said they learn things pretty fast. So that got me to thinking; maybe now that I’m an adult, I should get a monkey—for the grandkids, of course. I could teach him tricks, maybe teach him sign language so he could talk, or on a more intellectual level, how to play chess. And if I could train him to drive my truck, that would be awesome!

I can hear my wife having a heart attack as she reads this. Do you suppose if I taught the monkey to do housework, she’d be okay with it? Probably not.

Okay, truth be told, I don’t actually think having a pet monkey would be all that great. I’m sure their antics would quickly become annoying and I know they are not exactly the cleanest creatures in the world. Besides, I no longer need a monkey, I have grandkids!

Who would put a sixteen-year-old in charge of a freight crew? The answer is my boss—when I was sixteen. At the time, I didn’t think much about it, just took the keys to the grocery store, showed up at 4:00 a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and saw to it everyone did their job. But later in life, I started to question the sanity of my boss at the time.

We had a crew of five, counting me. All of the others were older than I was and probably much more qualified. While I was a fairly responsible and dependable person, at sixteen, I obviously wasn’t mature. Evidently, my boss didn’t think that mattered.

Even stranger, was that none of the crew had a problem with my age. We all got along and each of them followed directions without complaint or question. The freight got unloaded off the truck, put on the shelves, the shelves faced, and everything cleaned up—and on time. I doubt it had anything to do with me, I think they just made me look good.

Then, as good things usually do, that all came to an end. One of the crew quit his job and the boss hired a new guy. For some reason, this new guy didn’t think much of me. He wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t follow directions, and pretty much didn’t want to work. And, he repeatedly let it be known that he wasn’t going to be bossed around by a teenager.

I didn’t argue, or yell at him. Didn’t try to force him to do anything, which meant I usually ended up doing his work and mine. (A great experience for a few years later when I managed a fast food restaurant). This went on for a month or so—until the boss showed up early one morning and hid out in his office, watching and listening.

When the new guy started mouthing off, the boss made his presence known—by calling me into the office. Apparently, someone (the crew would never admit which of them) had tipped him off about the attitude of the employee, which is why he’d come in early. He then wanted to know why I hadn’t said anything. I told him I figured that’s why he had me there—so he didn’t have to put up with difficult employees. I saw it as my problem and not his.

After informing me that if I faced similar behavior in the future I should let him know, the boss grabbed an envelope from his desk and went to find the disgruntled worker. Handing the guy the envelope, he said, “You’re right. You don’t have to listen to a teenager.”

Yep, the guy got fired. But me, I got a raise!

SPOTLIGHT Author

Garrett Addison
The Traveller