I love my Jeep Cherokee. I do. It's red. Four doors. I think it's the perfect vehicle for me and I probably haven't utilized it enough, save for lugging around bikes and groceries and passengers. It's the perfect car for hot-boxing when no one has a van, and no one I know has one. Thanks to Mario, I've finally just got around to stapling the loose-hanging ceiling liner tight against the frame so it doesn't droop down onto your head. I don't keep it clean. I don't regularly maintain its condition, either. I haven't seen the gas needle go higher than a quarter-tank more than once since March. The upholstery has absorbed the weed and cigarette smoke. The dashboard collects dust. I don't even know what that sticky stuff is that gathers in the bottom of the change holder. The floors are filthy with dirt, crumbs, wrappers, receipts, loose change, and whatever else gets lost or left behind. I have a collection of various containers in the back full of water that I've been refilling my coolant tank with for the past month, too stubborn to get the engine fixed and too poor to keep buying anti-freeze. I feed it gas in the way that an ICU patient has an IV pumping into their arm to keep them comfortable as they slowly die. The windows get cleaned once a month, maybe. The red paint has peeled like sunburnt skin on the hood and rooftop. The back door won't stay open on its own and the pole I'd been using to prop it up bent in half about a month ago and I haven't found a replacement. Now it's a pain in the ass to put someone's bike back there. It has a spare tire. The backseat folds down without much effort and that's nice, too, because that allowed for a surprise pow-wow smoking session a few weeks ago when Angelina, Colby, and their friend showed up one night after Michelle and I got off work. It's memories like that which I'll thank my Jeep Cherokee for in the future. The LOW WATER light has been sputtering off and on for the past few months, which is somewhat cruel because the windshield wipers haven't worked since 2006. Having had to find new ways to drive in the rain, I have a few empty bottles of Rain-X in the back. The stuff works. The passenger side door won't open all the way and more than one person has been smacked in the head by the door when it unexpectedly bounced back at them. I don't know what that's all about. I don't remember doing anything to the door that would cause it to get stuck like that. The doors don't lock when you use the electric lock switch. The key that opens the doors is different from the one that turns on the engine. I don't lock the doors because of that. The speakers are worn down and constantly on the verge of being blown out, but I compulsively adjust the bass and treble levels to try and maintain their sound quality, which isn't great to begin with. The steering wheel feels loose in your hands. The gas pedal needs a bit of an extra push before it accelerates the car. Likewise, the brakes and transmission haven't been cooperating very well and sometimes an uncomfortable amount of force is needed on the brake pedal to stop the car, and after that the engine will continue to rev and it feels like the engine is competing with you. And if you let go of the brake,the Jeep will lurch forward by its own will. When idling--in the fast food line, for example--the engine temperature gauge will slowly creep toward the red. It will overheat if given enough time. With a crack in the coolant tank, there's no doubt that the engine is running hot. This prohibits the amount of driving I've been doing. Other than the special occasion when Carissa and I went to the strip club in San Francisco, I don't dare drive it farther than ten minutes, fifteen--maybe. Besides, I can't afford gas these days, anyway. For the record, it's about $4.40 a gallon around here. Speaking of which, the gas tank needs a key to be opened. It takes unleaded fuel. One time, after work, I forgot I had an orange Italian soda on the roof and drove across Santa Rosa to a gas station with Alyssa and when we got out we saw that the drink had fallen over but had luckily gotten stuck in the cargo rack on the roof. It didn't even spill. So I drank it.
All that just to declare that my 1990 Jeep Cherokee died in the parking spot outside of my apartment at 3:35 PM, July 30, 2008.
Upon returning home from Safeway, I heard this odd gurgling, boiling noise like someone had left their pot of water on the stove for too long. So I turned off the music and got out of the car and went around to the hood and yes, surely, the no-good sound was coming from the engine. On top of that, I heard splattering and dripping from underneath the car and bent down to see discomforting amounts of greenish liquid cascading down the rusty underbelly. A puddle of it formed and began to stream away and I just watched for a moment.
Having shoplifted a memory card and some batteries, I went inside and loaded up the camera and came back to try and film the waterfall. It had passed, however. Just the stench of fish-sticks remained, and the puddle. One of my neighbors walked by, this guy I feel like I should get to know better, but still haven't, and this guy went around and looked at the puddle under the car and told me I should pour a jug of water in the coolant tank and I said, "I did, but there's a leak in the tank," and he said, "Oh. That sucks." When he left I filmed a little of the damage.
Until I figure out what to do next, I guess this is it, old friend.
All that just to declare that my 1990 Jeep Cherokee died in the parking spot outside of my apartment at 3:35 PM, July 30, 2008.
Upon returning home from Safeway, I heard this odd gurgling, boiling noise like someone had left their pot of water on the stove for too long. So I turned off the music and got out of the car and went around to the hood and yes, surely, the no-good sound was coming from the engine. On top of that, I heard splattering and dripping from underneath the car and bent down to see discomforting amounts of greenish liquid cascading down the rusty underbelly. A puddle of it formed and began to stream away and I just watched for a moment.
Having shoplifted a memory card and some batteries, I went inside and loaded up the camera and came back to try and film the waterfall. It had passed, however. Just the stench of fish-sticks remained, and the puddle. One of my neighbors walked by, this guy I feel like I should get to know better, but still haven't, and this guy went around and looked at the puddle under the car and told me I should pour a jug of water in the coolant tank and I said, "I did, but there's a leak in the tank," and he said, "Oh. That sucks." When he left I filmed a little of the damage.
Until I figure out what to do next, I guess this is it, old friend.
UPDATE: AUGUST 27:: The vehicle mentioned above was, for all you knew, out of commission when it overheated that afternoon. However, since that day, you have continued to drive it and pay for AAA insurance. You drive to work, mostly, and sometimes take people home after work. It's an around-town Jeep, for sure, and it still overheats. There is a leak in the coolant tank and you can't fix it -- or you're too lazy to. But don't let anyone tell you otherwise: you did not give up on the Jeep after this video was recorded, as serious as the event seemed, because you're sort of a lazy bastard.
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