Oh, sad day!! My dear old ’87 Nissan Maxima is passing away. Hermie has dug it’s birth certificate out of the drawer where the other mechanical and electrical registrations lie in their respective folders mutely waiting to be pulled on the death of their own owners.
Oh, Maxima, I will miss you. You have run like a top for nearly 250,000 miles during 25 years; your maroon squared-off body still sleek and undented. Your masculine lines are a standout among the contemporary round and oval feminine buggies which now fill our roads. Your brave heart still beats smoothly at 4000 rpms but death is eating your bones.
The Unibody support near the gas tank and muffler has the spreading cancer of rust. My competent old mechanic, Jim Balog, the Maxima’s doctor for years talked to me on the phone, warning me of it’s coming demise as he stood examining it.
Standing beneath the hospital death bed…. I mean garage lift…… holding the cell phone to his ear, he gave me the sad news: “Foster, I think the unibody is okay…. I’m checking it now…….. Gees!!!! My screw driver just went entirely through the entire brace. It’s practically gone! This problem just can’t be repaired.”
Of course, I wanted a second opinion, and a nice young man, Joe, at Joe’s Autobody confirmed the lethal diagnosis: “That type of problem just can’t be fixed and the car is too dangerous for anyone to drive”. So there can be no second future happy owner who might buy it, appreciative of lost design excellence and mechanical quality.
Home later, I passed on the death sentence. “Hermie”, I gulped, the Maxima is headed for the crusher.”
Horror shadowed across her pretty face. “Oh no! That was my car for 14 years before it was yours!” This outburst of affection shocked me. She sorrowfully murmured she could only dread the idea of the unrepentant hooks clawing through the broken and open windows lifting the creaking and complaining car. She could only imagine the ghastly metal death screams, the old girl would utter as she would be crushed to smithereens before being hauled off to the great auto crematorium.
But wait!! There may be an option! The red note on my driver’s license proclaims “Organ Donor”.
That’s it! The old Maxima, like me, can live on! Both of us parted out. My heart swells with joyful anticipation, as I imagine some future night when a driver will peer through the dark, with my retinas, while the headlights of his buggy glow with the old Maxima’ s expensive Sylvania duel Super-Beams that I have lovingly supplied her.
What a team we’ll make! Imagine my kidneys filling the driver’s bladder while the Maxima’ s shiny rebuilt fuel pump pours yellow liquid power into a newer Nissan’s fuel injection. It couldn’t get any better than this, could it!?
Somehow, now, the pain doesn’t seem as overwhelming. I know Hermie and my entire family can appreciate the future possibilities.
Picture at:
https://picasaweb.google.com/106484616631326693897/ScrapbookPhotos
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