Why do I get dumber as I get older?

I was looking through some old magazines and stuff and came across some old issues of SHOPTALK. SHOPTALK was a fanzine devoted to the comic industry. The members were all professional or semi professional, with at least some sort of presence in the field. Actually it wasn't a fanzine, it was what is called an apa. Bascially what this means is that all the members have to contribue something to it whenever it comes out, Shoptalk was once every three months, and than this was collected together by the central mailer and sent out to all the members. We talked about getting ahead in the biz, showed samples of what we were working on, commented on what was done in the last issue....all in all, pretty interesting.

In one of the issues I was looking at I wrote about my purchase of an old car of mine. I found it to be somewhat humorous so I thought I'd include it on here.

You think you reach a certain level of, if not wisdom, at least a certain amount of intelligence with the passage of time. Why do I have to get dumber as I get older?

I know better, I really do. Even at the time I knew better, but I went ahead and did it anway.
Why you ask? Because my super power is that I lose brain cells when I really need them and I become a completel idiot.

What am I babbling about? Since the last entry I went out and bought a new car. Not actually a new car, a used car, but to me it was new, so that makes it a new car, right. Or at least a new used car. Or maybe a used new car?

My faithful Subaru was on its last legs. Almost 150,000 miles and I figured it was time to put it out to pasture. There was at least a thousand dollars of repair bills I was looking at, so I figured maybe it was time to start seeing what I could find in the way of a newer vehicle. I thought if I could find a used car for around a thousand dollars or even fifteen hundred I would do better buying it than getting the Subaru fixed.

My Subaru was something of a legend where I used to work. The back seat was lost in the pile of trash, clothes and who knows what else back there. I kept a rack of ties hanging from the back window so when I went to work I would always have a tie. Once while I was at work the soles of one of my shoes fell off. What was I to do? I went out to my car and dug around in the back seat and lo and behold! What did I find? An old pair of shoes!

Still it was time for something different. And this is where I made my mistake, this is where my brain cells went south for vacation. You know those little used car lots that you find by the side of the road? I can hear everyone crying now: Oh, no, anything but that! Yes, that.

I have found a form of life lower than a lawyer. There can't be a form of life lower than a used car salesman. I would put pond scum higher up on the evolutionary scale than a used car salesman.

The salesman that came out was about as wide as he was tall. I explained what I was looking for as far as price range went. He showed me a few cars and than I saw it. A red Fierro. A Fierro for those who aren't familar with is a two seater sports car made cheaply by Ponitac. I asked how much it was? (There goes more of my brain cells. Who needs them anyway?) He said the best he could go on it was eleven hundred.

The sales office was a small two room building. On the wall was taped an article from a local newspaper. It showed my salesman, along with what I assumed to be his brothers, all built along the same lines as he was, and all three were standing above a pond or lake with their shirts off. The caption read something about these brothers being the belly smashing champions. Why didn't I flee than? (I just received a post card from my brain, they're enjoying the sun in Mexico.)

Does anyone see where this is going? I bought the Fierro. A few days later I was at a book store and I was looking at a book about the value of used cars and I flipped it to the section on Fierros. Guess what it said? I would have been better off buying tickets on the maiden voyage of the Titanic.

I remember the day, about in the second week, the car had already been to the shop the week previous and I assumed that it would run fairly well now. I was coming down the ramp from the elevated expressway and had to cross three lanes of traffic to turn at the coming corner. As the car left the ramp it died. I was coasting to a stop. And I thought I was going to die, because looking in the rear view mirror what do I see? A bus, heading right towards me. For the bus I wouldn't be much more than a speed bump. Luckily it managed to stop before it made me experience life as a pancake.

There was one bit of luck in the spot where it died. On the corner of the road was a gas station.
It was a self service station, so there were no mechanics, but I figured I could push it in and than shoot the car and put it out of my misery. I waited till the light turned green and proceeded to push it. I had to make the turn and than turn once more into the gas station. I don't know how many of you are familar with New Orleans. One prominent feature of the land around here is that it is flat. The highest area in monkey island in the zoo. There are no hills in New Orleans. At least no natural occuring ones. So why did I have to be pushing my car up one of the few man made hills.

It wasnt' a big hill, most of you would consider it a mere bump, but when you have to push a car up a three foot slope it loses its hill status quickly and becomes a mountain. I managed to get it half way up and than couldnt' go any farther. I couldnt' let go or it would roll back out into the street. I was stuck. I might still be there today, holding that car, a new local landmark. "Yes, that's our one hill in the area, and that's the dumb man that bought a Fierro from a local used car lot. I apologize if there are any small children along on the tour, I know how frightening that sounds."

I was lucky. A passing motorist took pity on me and gave me a push with his car. Did I mention that a Fierro is made out of plastic? His pushing the car up the hill gave it a few new bumps and curves.

There was the time I was driving over to my parent's house and coming down the bridge when it died again. All these small deaths were all different causes. I ahve to give the car an A in ints ability to come up with a completely new and different problem every week. It never bothered me with the same problem more than once. It was early, so at least I didn't have traffic to contend with. I can tell you the best thing about a Fierro, they're small and light, so they're not that hard to push. I rolled my window down so I could reach in and steer as I pushed. I got out and proceeded to do just that. One simple word of advice to anyone else that might find themselves in the same predicament, always make sure that your foot is out of the way of the tire. That's right, I rolled over my own foot with the back tire. Has anyone seen any spare brain cells?

I'll spare you all the details. Let's just say I became good friends with the lady at the local Firestone. She knew my voice form the first word on the phone. Too bad she was married, at least the car might have served some useful purpose.

After about a month more of this and finding out that the car had more problems that I could ever hope to compete with I decided it was time to put it to rest.

Ok, there you have it. Not a time when I was using my head for much more than a hatrack. I kind of liked it when I read it though. I could actually write for pages and pages more about that car, but we'll let it rest where it belongs...at the bottom of the ocean hopefully.