The day I bought my first car was one of the finest days of my life. It really wasn’t my dream car because I never really had a dream car. I just wanted anything with an engine and four wheels.
As I drove home that day, I lowered all the windows and put out my elbow, wondering if people were seeing me. I spent most of my drive looking sideways instead of the road ahead.
At one point, I hit a bump and the car key fell out of the ignition while the engine was running. I then realised that the car could actually be started by a coin, spoon or anything metallic. I went to the garage, fixed the problem and installed two cut-outs.
Having two cut-outs in a car is really not meant to solve a car theft problem. It is an attempt to solve a much deeper psychological problem that requires years of therapy.
When I got home that evening, I realised I had a much more serious problem.
Where will the car sleep?
Our apartment, (plot, if we are honest) did not have a place to park cars, so the car had to sleep outside. I couldn’t sleep, I kept having nightmares of a stolen car and often went outside the house in the middle of the night to confirm if the car was okay.
Eventually, I moved to a plot with parking and a solder, which of course meant a smaller house and higher rent. My life also started revolving around the car ; fantacizing about my new status, adjusting my finances to meet the needs of the car and insulting rogue road users.
By the time the log book was out, the car had started calling me son.
Because it officially owned me.
Fabio