Antiquated Autos

     It seems like I’m always behind the times, especially when it comes to the automobiles I drive. Currently, I run errands in an eight-year-old car that is equipped with none of the fancy gadgets that are found in newer cars.

     Believe it or not, the only course-plotting device I have is my husband and if he’s not in the car or his internal compass needs a bit of tweaking, then I actually have to stop and ask for directions or I may even have to read a map.

     I don’t have a built-in computer in case I’m in an accident and need assistance, and then have to listen to my panicked voice on a nationally televised commercial at a later date. I have to call for help the old fashioned way … out the car window or by hanging my bra on the radio antenna since I’m usually fresh out of white flags.

     I can usually rely on my left turn signal to work on a regular basis, but the right signal has apparently decided to work only on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 10 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. Central Standard Time. "Some sort of short," the overpriced auto repairman told me a few weeks ago, which is the canned answer a repairman provides when he doesn’t know what the real problem with your signal is until he tears the entire trunk out of your car, dismantles it on the floor of the repair shop, realizes you just need a new light bulb, and then charges you $1,000 for labor and $1.50 for the light bulb.

     The most aggravating thing about driving an older car is my antiquated stereo. Every time I pop in the cassette from the movie Footloose, I wonder what it’s like to have a CD player. I had the same problem when I drove my 1977 Camaro during the late 1980s. I had an eight-track stereo and everyone else had cassette players. I eventually tired of listening to the Shaun Cassidy eight-track and had a new stereo installed. Three weeks later, thieves ripped out my entire dashboard, along with the new stereo, while I shopped for new cassettes inside a record store. That’s what I got for trying to keep up with the times.

     I know it sounds crazy, but after I read self-made millionaires often keep their cars for 10 years or more, I decided to start hanging on to my cars until they fell apart in the street. I figure the Footloose cassette has at least a couple of more years left in it before the cassette player eats the tape for lunch one day.

     Unfortunately, I can’t find the road to riches because I don’t have an on-board navigation system.



About Vicky DeCoster

Award-winning humor writer Vicky DeCoster is the author of "From Diapers to Dorkville," "Husbands, Hot Flashes, and All That Hullabaloo!" and "The Wacky World of Womanhood." She has been published in over 60 magazines, books, and on several web sites. Vicky lives in Nebraska with her husband and two children where she loves to laugh every day. Visit her at
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