More ruminations on the car

I have automotive hypochondria. Whenever I'm feeling anxious about anything, which is most of the time, I hear strange sounds coming from my car. Metal on metal sounds. Expensive, life-threatening kinds of sounds. If you're driving with me, be forewarned: at some point, I will ask you if you "hear that." You will not hear what I hear. Our conversation will go like this:



ME: Do you hear that noise?

YOU: What noise?

ME: That sort of...grindy noise.

YOU: I don't hear any noise.

ME: It's almost more of a screech. Maybe it's a belt or something. Here, let me turn down the radio.

YOU: I don't...hey, that's my favorite song.

ME: Shh, listen. This could be important.



This one time, though, I asked my friend Kate if she "heard that", and she said yes, and I got really mad and told her that there was nothing wrong with my car, and she was a crazy person, and that I didn't have any money anyway and what did she expect me to do about it? I think I had PMS or something. Anyway, she apologized, like you do when crazy people act crazy, and then a month later my wheel fell off. No word of a lie, dude.