And Stop Calling Me Shirley…

My Jeep, Shirley, learned a new trick the other day. She’s typically a pretty quirky girl, but this one took the cake. The boy and I were sitting in the living room, chatting about our respective days (and hadn’t been near Shirley in about an hour), when she began sounding her alarm. Understandably worried, the boy went outside to check the situation. No one was near the car. Hmmm.

We went back inside, and about five minutes later she did it again. This happened two or three more times, all the while we were scouring online forums looking for people who may have had similar problems. We found a temporary fix (so it seemed), and after a good ten minutes or so, I felt confident I could drive her to the gym without incident.

After about an hour-long workout I emerged, keys in hand, half expecting Shirley to have resumed her screaming fit in the LA Fitness parking lot with a dead battery as an end result.

Oh, how simple that would have been.

As I walked out of the gym and slowly approached the car, I noticed a weird sound. Upon further inspection, I saw it. Shirley, In all her glory. Lights on, A/C blasting, M.I.A. chanting about paper airplanes on the radio. As I stood there, wide-eyed, WITH MY KEYS IN MY HAND.

I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation. Perhaps she was bored and needed some music. Whatever the reason, she actually TURNED HERSELF ON. Anyone know of a good car exorcist?

She cranked up and drove fine, thank god, but when I stopped to get gas on the way home I learned that she also would not turn off, like an obstinate child refusing to go to sleep. I took the keys out of the ignition, yet she still sat there, singing along and shining on. Now, every time we get out of the car we have to disconnect her battery.

My old Infiniti, Yoko, was a cranky broad too – but her antics weren’t quite as dramatic. She’d spontaneously roll her windows down while I was driving, randomly choose when I would be allowed to view the dashboard at night, and announce herself with a dramatic growl from a 1/4 mile out. But she never TURNED ON by herself. Shirley, you have a talent.

I guess this is the tradeoff for having no car payment. A nearly 15 year-old car (what is that in car years, like 150?) with no warranty and cute little quirks like coming alive unprovoked and scaring the ever-lovin’ sh*t out of her owner.

I’m thinking it may be time for a scooter. I could rock the moped look.

(Shirley, if you’re reading this–as I’m sure you will, with your pseudo-Kit super intelligence and all–I mean no offense. And sorry about the name. It just fit at the time.)

(Artwork courtesy of The Graphics Fairy)



Filed under Life, the Universe, and Everything, Sound

2 responses to “And Stop Calling Me Shirley…

  1. Congrats on no car payment, but the rest of what’s going on with that car is just weird… maybe it is posessed, I hope it’s a gas mileage demon, we can all use better gas mileage.

  2. Pingback: Simplicity. Love it. « Strictly for Pleasure

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