Key to a new car

The car purchase was completed, my old radio was installed, and insurance updating was handled. I have my own transportation again.

And then I went to the car to leave work and saw that someone had keyed it.

I've been told that there are ways of filling in scratches oneself, although this is on the black area next to the driver's window. Is that paint?

It's aggravating enough that this happened, doubly irritating that it's mere hours after I acquired the car, and triply annoying that it looks to be a deliberate action. Even worse, it's on the driver's side, which means I'll see it every time I get into the car.

I'm not hypersensitive about the appearance of the car I drive, but this really riles me up. I want to be better than that but ugh...

Bungled

As a Cincinnati Bengals fan I am used to being disappointed, aggravated, embarrassed, you name it by my favorite team. They've only had winning seasons or made the playoffs two times in twenty years. They last won a playoff game in 1991. That did not change today.

Even when they're winning, like this season, there's a sense deep down that it isn't going to last. Boy, was that well-honed internal pessimism ever accurate. This team isn't jokingly referred to as the Bungles for nothing.

Spectator sports are a funny thing. Other than a lifelong commitment to watching this team, which wasn't in my hometown or where I live now, I have no connection to the organization whatsoever. Nevertheless, it's days like these that metaphorically kill me.

So why bother with it? For better or worse, it's my team. It's something to talk about with my dad--he called me at halftime--and others. It's something to vent frustrations on. (There's one thing this team is good for.) When it's going good, it's something to lift my spirits for a bit.

Am I mad that the Bengals suffered more injuries to what was an already banged-up squad and played mediocre at best? Absolutely. I'll also be right back there rooting for them (and probably ripping my hair out) when the next season begins.

Forward and back again

The (insane) goal I set was to try and turn out some relatively quick projects each day this week. That crashed and burned on Monday when I accomplished a grand total of zero FOs. In fairness, all sorts of things went unexpectedly that day.

On Tuesday I translated a chart into a written pattern and intended to stay up a little late if necessary to finish the project. About ten rows in I discovered that my translation was off. I'd been somewhat frustrated by some vagueness I'd encountered a similar pattern, but this one goofed me up more. OK, fine. I'll reset it the next day.

Today I started reversing all of the stitches before realizing that this solution wouldn't actually solve anything. I began with an alteration of the type of stitches and then realized I needed to reverse their order as well. Here's an example of what I was doing:

Original: k1, p2, k3, p4, k5, p6, k7
Alteration #1: p1, k2, p3, k4, p5, k6, p7
Alteration #2: p7, k6, p5, k4, p3, k2, p1

I thought I was good to go, but when I got to this portion of the pattern, I could see that clearly alteration #2 was not going to be the solution. Actually, alteration #1 was correct. The problem? Everything I have saved in a computer file and printed out looks like alteration #2.

My solution was to stick with it and follow the instructions backwards while knitting the project. Surprisingly I was able to do this during knit night and completed the project in about three hours. I still need to fix the written instructions, but I'm really happy with tangible evidence of my work. I suppose that's all that matters in the end.

Beep beep

I've not been sleeping well lately.

There's no good reason, although on Tuesday and Wednesday it could be explained by an air conditioning unit that wasn't working properly and producing something akin to cracking sounds. (I opened the utility closet to see that a pipe emerging from it was surrounded by ice and had developed two young icicles. That can't be good, can it?) And then there was last night.

I had been sleeping as deeply as I have in awhile when I was awakened at 4:30 a.m. by the sound of a persistent car horn. Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep...

My apartment dampens the noise from the outside fairly well, so the fact that I could clearly hear it in my place tells you how loud it was. (I must admit to being a light sleeper, though.) I expected this annoyance would go away soon enough but it didn't. I looked out the window and didn't see flashing lights on any cars in the lot, which indicated the noise wasn't coming from my complex. If not, where was the source?

I tried going back to sleep, but there was no chance that was happening with a honk per second. I thought maybe I was wrong and that it was an alarm from the strip shopping center. I looked out the window again and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. No doors were ajar, and the sound didn't seem as though it was from that direction.

Then I wondered if the alarm was coming from my car. From my apartment I didn't see any signs of it being broken into or having its alarm tripped, but I had to check, if merely to alleviate my concerns that I was the owner of the vehicle disrupting everyone's sleep. I slipped on my shoes and wandered outside. Nope. Not my car. Not any others out there.

Again I tried to fall asleep, but that incessant beeping could not be ignored. I looked out the rear window of my apartment again and saw a flashing light through the trees that was synchronized with the alarm. The car was in a different apartment complex that was nearby but not especially close. So it was at this point that I decided to take action.

The problem was that I lacked two critical pieces of information. First, who do I call? The city on my address is not the city where my taxes are sent. Do I call the suburb's police department or the Columbus cops? Of course I had no idea what either number was since this was not an emergency of the 911 variety. Second, how do I explain where the problem is? I don't know the address because it's not where I live.

I fired up the laptop and went to Google Maps. I entered my address, clicked the button for satellite display, and could easily identify the building. Now I had a location for the beeping car. I looked up the suburb's police department and found the non-emergency number. When I told them the address, they told me to call Columbus. I rang them and was told that someone else had notified them and that a police officer was just about on the scene. This was 5:15 a.m., 45 minutes after I first heard the alarm.

According to Google Maps, the lot with the beeping car was .7 miles by foot from my home. (It's not a straight line, for what it's worth.) How in the world no one over there, especially the owner, hadn't heard it and done something earlier mystified me, but whatever, I figured the issue would soon be resolved. When 6:00 a.m. arrived and the car was still unleashing its cry for help, I began to wonder what was up.

I looked out and saw the flicker of the red and blue police car lights through the trees. Clearly they were present. Could they just not reach the vehicle's owner? As I lay there weary, perturbed, and wide awake I started counting the beeps in the cycle. One hundred twenty honks sounded before a slight hiccup that indicated the repeating of a fresh set.

Finally, at 6:40 a.m., almost an hour and a half after the police arrived, it stopped. I strained to make sure that it really, truly was over. Making a conservative estimate, the car honked no fewer than 7800 times in the wee hours of the night. However restless tonight's sleep may be, I have to expect it will be more productive than what I lost during this minimalist automotive symphony.

Let's make a deal

My dad rolled into town today to help me with actually looking at cars and not online searches. On his way in I drove about twenty miles from home to meet him at a place that had a vehicle of interest. It wasn't quite right--brakes clicked, just the basics--but OK, so it goes.

The next place proved to be what I suspected--rebuilt salvage vehicles--but then we swung through a series of dealerships lined up in a row. I took one car in what appeared to be immaculate condition, so of course it lost a hubcap after driving less than a half mile from the lot. Luckily another driver pointed it out to me, and we recovered it in time. (It was cheap plastic with a broken piece on it, so I was not at fault.)

I felt all right with that car, although it wasn't something I'd researched. Expectations remained in check and were tempered with some skepticism. I've since found out that its fuel economy is not so hot.

After a bite to eat we swung by four or five dealerships near my place just to see what they had. The last had a car whose price, while a little higher than I would like, was in the range and had the newness, mileage, and Consumer Reports reliability I was seeking. I took it for a test drive and was suitably impressed. And then the fun began.

I wasn't planning to buy anything today simply for the fact that I didn't want to be pressed into making a snap decision. I'll be spending the most money I've ever laid out for a car and possibly more than the cost of my four previous vehicles. It is not a decision I'm taking lightly.

The salesman did a nice job of applying the screws and then walked away to see what he could give me for the trade-in and knock the price down to. I was a little irritated by the length of the wait--it was near the dealership's closing time--and I was determined not to make a commitment that night. (My dad had been quieter than I'd hoped during this process, but at least he provided some moral support.)

Both of us expected a nominal discount and were thus surprised to see the price the salesman offered. Of course, this was an "only good right now, late night price". It was tempting to take the deal, but I stood firm and told him that I wanted to think about it and would come back if I felt like it was the right thing. He couldn't guarantee the deal would be offered on a return visit. I'm willing to live with that anyway.

What irritates me to no end is that this process is driven by anything but truthfulness and best intentions. The salesman put on a good performance, but you know what, if the car had been priced at what he offered rather than going through the whole give and take, I might well have that contract in hand now. I loathe the haggling and pretense that's all about trying not to get screwed over. Obviously they're making a pretty penny even with the "discount", which just tells me how artificially high the price was to begin with. (If going by the original/highest price on the car, I was being offered in the range of a 40% reduction including tax and title.)

Since coming home I've found the same and comparable cars advertised at about the same original price. Some have slightly better mileage and features. The car with the discount does not appear to be such a rare deal after all. I've tried to be diligent about educating myself during this process and going in knowing what's what. It's certainly been very useful--I can't imagine how badly some people get ripped off--but this nonsense puts me off the whole car buying dance to where I wish I didn't have to do it.

Buying a car should be fun? Ha. I'd settle for non-inflammatory.