endless rain into a paper cup - thoughts on the art of sedan maintenance, part i

photo: flickr

Owning a car means watching entropy happen right before one's eyes.

Last summer, our now six-year-old friend Thomas Carter sat in the backseat of Lindsey's car disobediently fidgeting with the power-window switch as Lindsey carted the boy to his swim lesson. The electrical-sophistication of our late-eighties model Nissan crumbled under the weight of Thomas' curiosity, and the window's motor failed while in the downward position.

A few weeks later, while I was in India, Lindsey again shuttled the young squire about town as a favor to his mother Dawn whose husband was also away leading the India team. Lindsey chose to use my vehicle because it was newer had no permanently lowered windows. Thomas was placed in the passenger side rear seat, the same position he had occupied in the Nissan. Much to the child's dismay, however, the right rear window had never worked in my car, not even for one day since the purchase date.

Mere facts of historical dysfunction posed no threat to Thomas' resolute inquisitiveness, and he promptly willed the window down with a mere flick of his finger. Unfortunately, his resolve did not extend to the retraction of the window, and it too stuck in the downward position.

Six months prior to these mechanical debacles, I was retrieving my backpack from the backseat after returning home from a long day's work. As I closed the door, the driver's side rear window slid lifelessly down its tracks. The dealer quoted the repair at four hundred dollars, but I got the price down under two hundred by buying the parts on the internet and having a mechanic install them.

Unfortunately, at the time of the youngest Carter's great window massacre, I had been unemployed for nearly four months, and there was no end in sight.

So we mustered up the most affordable and technologically advanced solution we could . . . packing tape. It wasn't art, but it had to be done.

p.s. Just so we are clear, we still love Thomas and his fidgety, little fingers.