![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Tuesday, April 24th, 2007
I pick up my new car, a 2004 Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor. It was ghostly white, with holes punched here and there in the body… holes covered in silicon tape that was oddly reminiscent of bandages.
Family members told me I was foolish to purchase a used police car.
Wednesday, April 25th, 2007
The very next day, on a whim, I pulled off the 403 to detour highway traffic on the lonely, twisting rural roads of Halton. Especially fun is the sudden curve that leads to a one-lane wooden bridge, or the tree-shadowed corkscrew bend past an old schoolhouse. I continue to take this detour every day.
It was not until today I realized my car had formerly served in the fleet of the Halton OPP.
Friday, April 27th, 2007
A strange rattle emanates from the undercarriage. I take the car to Midas at 8 AM. They tell me it is a minor problem, which can be fixed in an hour or so. I call throughout the day, each time to be told that the problem hasn't been fixed yet. Finally, just before closing, they call to say that though they ordered the part, it hasn’t shown up.
Monday, April 30th, 2007
I take the car to Maaco to be painted. They promise it will be done on Thursday. This proves to be a wild underestimate. For some reason, the car remains unpainted all week, even on Saturday. It's as though they just keep forgetting about it.
Tuesday, May 7th, 2007
I finally get the car back from Maaco. The paint sparkles and gleams in the spring sunshine. Two hours later, I notice an odd dullness on the hood. A dull, crackling texture spreads through the paint, like that of old leather. Yet, the paint is soft to the touch, coming away with the slightest pressure, exposing the bone white finish below…
It’s as though the paint doesn’t want to touch the car.
Wednesday, May 8th, 2007
The driver of a rented delivery truck smashes the passenger side of the car while it is parked at a grocery store, as though he didn’t even see it….
Insurance is called. Days pass, and no one calls back.
Monday, May 14th, 2007
I arrive at work to find a voicemail message.
“Sir, we have no record of you as one of our auto insurance clients.”
This, despite the pile of supporting documentation I have in front of me to prove that I am a client, and have insured this car. Several phone calls later, they finally sort it out, but now I must wait an additional 24 to 48 hours to hear from an insurance adjuster.
When I hang up, a feel a sudden and deep longing to either curse, or take the car for a nice long drive at lunch hour. Maybe get some coffee and doughnuts and drive. Yeah, that’s it… a drive… in the country… Halton, maybe… sure, yeah… a drive…
…drive down a sun-dappled hillside, down, down, down a twisting narrow road, to a one-lane wooden bridge across the dark and mysterious waters that look so cool and inviting…
I snap myself back to the present.
It’s pretty clear what I’m dealing with here, automobile-wise.
I’ve managed to purchase some kind of haunted ghost car.
Maybe a cop died in it. Maybe a criminal died in the back, or just some homeless old man. Or maybe the car itself has developed some kind of feeble, groping consciousness that influences me.
If you see me trying to buy a gun, or wearing mirrored shades and a nametag, call the vicar.
I pick up my new car, a 2004 Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor. It was ghostly white, with holes punched here and there in the body… holes covered in silicon tape that was oddly reminiscent of bandages.
Family members told me I was foolish to purchase a used police car.
Wednesday, April 25th, 2007
The very next day, on a whim, I pulled off the 403 to detour highway traffic on the lonely, twisting rural roads of Halton. Especially fun is the sudden curve that leads to a one-lane wooden bridge, or the tree-shadowed corkscrew bend past an old schoolhouse. I continue to take this detour every day.
It was not until today I realized my car had formerly served in the fleet of the Halton OPP.
Friday, April 27th, 2007
A strange rattle emanates from the undercarriage. I take the car to Midas at 8 AM. They tell me it is a minor problem, which can be fixed in an hour or so. I call throughout the day, each time to be told that the problem hasn't been fixed yet. Finally, just before closing, they call to say that though they ordered the part, it hasn’t shown up.
Monday, April 30th, 2007
I take the car to Maaco to be painted. They promise it will be done on Thursday. This proves to be a wild underestimate. For some reason, the car remains unpainted all week, even on Saturday. It's as though they just keep forgetting about it.
Tuesday, May 7th, 2007
I finally get the car back from Maaco. The paint sparkles and gleams in the spring sunshine. Two hours later, I notice an odd dullness on the hood. A dull, crackling texture spreads through the paint, like that of old leather. Yet, the paint is soft to the touch, coming away with the slightest pressure, exposing the bone white finish below…
It’s as though the paint doesn’t want to touch the car.
Wednesday, May 8th, 2007
The driver of a rented delivery truck smashes the passenger side of the car while it is parked at a grocery store, as though he didn’t even see it….
Insurance is called. Days pass, and no one calls back.
Monday, May 14th, 2007
I arrive at work to find a voicemail message.
“Sir, we have no record of you as one of our auto insurance clients.”
This, despite the pile of supporting documentation I have in front of me to prove that I am a client, and have insured this car. Several phone calls later, they finally sort it out, but now I must wait an additional 24 to 48 hours to hear from an insurance adjuster.
When I hang up, a feel a sudden and deep longing to either curse, or take the car for a nice long drive at lunch hour. Maybe get some coffee and doughnuts and drive. Yeah, that’s it… a drive… in the country… Halton, maybe… sure, yeah… a drive…
…drive down a sun-dappled hillside, down, down, down a twisting narrow road, to a one-lane wooden bridge across the dark and mysterious waters that look so cool and inviting…
I snap myself back to the present.
It’s pretty clear what I’m dealing with here, automobile-wise.
I’ve managed to purchase some kind of haunted ghost car.
Maybe a cop died in it. Maybe a criminal died in the back, or just some homeless old man. Or maybe the car itself has developed some kind of feeble, groping consciousness that influences me.
If you see me trying to buy a gun, or wearing mirrored shades and a nametag, call the vicar.
