That car was the catalyst that changed my entire life. Dad bought it, and I rode a bus to PA to pick it up. I intended to turn around and go back home, but I was offered a temporary job here; since I'd just lost my previous job, I took it to earn some traveling money. On my first day at work I met the man who would become my husband. I stayed at that job and am now in a management position.
I remember the first time I laid eyes on the Buick. I thought it was beautiful, with its spoke hubcaps and chrome trim. The power windows and seats were something I'd never had before; nor was functioning air conditioning and cruise control. The logo panel on the dash glowed at night, and a light came on inside the ashtray when you opened it. I thought that was pretty spiffy. The trunk was immaculate, spare never used, jack still shiny. (I remedied that spotlessness by lugging home countless plants, often forgetting they were in the trunk until I opened it to put more in and the smell of wet, moldy plant material hit me in the face.)
I soon learned what a pain it was to work on a GM 3.8l carbureted engine. One needed three elbow joints to change the rear spark plugs, and it had a constant valve cover leak that I fixed twice and paid someone else to fix at least once. Even replaced the valve cover itself. It still leaks. There is a cable for the transmission that has to be adjusted just-so when you pull or replace the tranny or engine; mine wasn't, and I burned out one transmission en route to getting it fixed and we had to yank the spare out of the parts car and have someone else tweak it. That was not long after Dad, hubby, and brother replaced the engine. It needed to be swapped because the day I got the car back from the shop after having the timing chain replaced, it dropped a lifter or a valve and spread chunks of metal cheer throughout the block. I bought two parts cars for a hundred bucks apiece and drove one while the other became a donor. The one remaining parts car will be going with the Buick when it leaves. Did I mention the oil pump? It should be noted that we have rebuilt and resurfaced it no less than five times, as there are no actual replacement pumps available. And I'm sure I could have fixed the power window switch but it only sticks in the winter, when I don't need it rolled down anyway. Except when the fumes from oil leaking from that valve cover burn off and come in the vents. Or exhaust fumes... replaced the muffler twice and tailpipe three times.
It's been an interesting seven years with that car. Buick Ballet was something I never experienced until I found out why snow tires on a light-in-the-tail rear-wheel-drive car are necessary up here. I spun around a few times, came to rest about three inches from a drop-off into a field, made sure I didn't need to go back home to change my pants, then went on to work. Once I led a parade of cars home from work, before the snow had been plowed off the road. I was pushing a foot of snow and the others were following my tire ruts. Took me an hour and 45 minutes to drive 14 miles. The last three miles were up a mountain road. I invested some money in a good set of studded snow tires and then, of course, it didn't snow for the rest of winter.
There was the time my cousin and I drove the Buick down South for a week's visit. It loved 85 MPH on the highway and would ride there all day, except when it overheated and we had to sit at a podunk mini-mart until I found someone who sold antifreeze and radiator hoses nearby.
I cleaned it up and out today. Vacuum, Armor-All, Ozium to get rid of that lingering dead-plant smell. Washed the car and the floor mats. Emptied it of everything it had accumulated in seven years' time. Took my collection of scorpion figures off the rear dash, removed my Rusty Wallace license plate and peeled my Moon Lady sticker off the window (it's been through three cars with me and is now on a fourth). Tossed the cowboy-hat-wearing smiley-face antenna bobber that helped me find the car in the Wal-Mart parking lot but kept the blue fuzzy dice I won playing Skee-Ball. Buick looked good. So good I thought about keeping it, until I got in and turned it over and immediately smelled smoke. And the window wouldn't go down.
All things considered, it was a
I just called my dad to tell him we'd be up to haul off the parts car this weekend. He said when we came up, he'd give me the keys to his old car and I could keep it here and drive it for a while and Hubby could fix a few little things that need fixing on it.
It's a Buick.
