If black smoke is pouring from your car, something's probably wrong: The perks of being a car owner

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^^That's me banging my head against the keyboard.^^

 I just can't seem to catch a break with my car. Parking tickets (some legitimate, some not), multiple trips to the DMV (I practically live there now), frantic faxes back and forth between DC and Montana involving power-of-attorney documents, even getting my car towed (FYI, not my fault)...all this makes me wonder why I have a car here in the first place.

Let me share the latest in my saga of woe.

I was driving with some friends. After about 2 minutes, my British pal Felix piped up from the backseat (please envision this with an English accent), "Aftan, is that smoke coming from your air vents?"

After my minor heart attack, I reassured him that nah, it wasn't smoke, it was a trick of the light. Of course. My car canNOT be on fire.  I kept an eye on the vents, but didn't see anything suspicious. The temperature gauge read as normal.

Then we pulled over for some coffee. "Hmmm," I said, sniffing the air. "Does anyone else smell...smoke?"

My other friend got out and made a quick inspection. "Yep," she said, "there's definitely smoke coming from the under-carriage, looks like it's concentrated near the passenger-side door." I peered over the steering wheel and saw small dark plumes wafting lazily from the hood.

My reaction:

Oh of COURSE, I thought. This just WOULD happen, because nothing with this car is ever straightforward or normal.

I sighed and pointed the car back toward home, driving nervously the whole while. I don't know much about cars, and something about smoke coming from the under-carriage makes me think the whole thing must be about to blow up.

I took my poor little beast to an autoshop the next day. They diagnosed a medium-sized, but serious, repair: apparently the rubber boot around the brake clamp had split and spewed hot oil everywhere. The smoke was the oil burning off as I drove. Not a big deal. However, in fixing this they also noticed that my brake discs were about to fail (not the brake pumps, but the discs that the pumps clamped onto...or something). If these had failed while I'd been driving, I "would have been in big trouble...it would have been bad," as the mechanic said.

So they made the repairs, and I also asked about replacing my radio, which despite four years of life support had finally died. They directed me to Best Buy for the that, which apparently does free installations once you buy the radio. Who knew?...so the people at Best Buy replaced my radio, but in the process discovered that all FOUR of my speakers had died, too.

No wonder the sound system wasn't working. Another bill later, I have a fully-functional stereo.

So the next time you see a Subaru rolling down the street, all the windows down, most likely blasting country music -- that's me, in a WORKING and SAFE (for now) car with a WORKING sound system. Hoo rah.

No, truly, despite my complaints, having a car is awesome, cuz it lets you go out of town for apple-picking and other fall excursions. But more on those fun things later.

The best Valentine’s Day ever. Note the heavy sarcasm.

As a young woman who’s been single all her life, Valentine’s Day usually comes and goes without too much concern from me. It’s just any ole regular day. With more candy.

This year, however, was different. Because The Sis brought our car with her when she moved out, I had to go to the DMV on Tuesday in order to get a parking permit.  I could have done this two, three, or even four weeks ago while we still had our temporary visitor permit, but I guess I procrastinated or something because suddenly we only had one day left on the temporary permit.  So I did my research, gathered all my relevant documents, and trekked out to the DMV on Valentine’s Day.  (But only after I went to the wrong location a day before.  Seriously, DMV website, could you be a little more specific?)

Here’s how I spent my Valentine’s Day:

Stood in long line at DMV. Talked to someone, stood in another line.

Talked to someone else. Found out the car, currently registered in my father’s name, must definitely definitely no-exceptions-allowed MUST be registered in my name. Even though I had documentation proving I was a legal driver under my father’s insurance.

Left DMV. Texted Sis that we needed to go to Plan B. Called Mom with update. Mom wonders if our Montana DMV can fax DC DMV a statement saying the registration is transferred, but that the official doc can’t get there in time due to bureaucratic red tape.

Return to DMV to ask about faxing. Stand in line again. Answer is “yes, in your situation.” Call Mom again. Leave DC DMV while Mom goes to MT DMV to transfer the car registration. Text Sis that I’m working on Plan C. Browse around in the nearby shops in order to kill time. Find stunning outfit I want to buy but I can’t because a) I’m a poor intern and Georgetown clothing is outrageously expensive, and b) the aftermath from the whole robbery thing is still not resolved.

Return to DC DMV. Stand in line. Get ticket stub to stand in another line. Pray to God that this all works out, because the DMV is about to close and today is the last day on my temporary permit and I really really don’t want to pay several hundred dollars in potential parking fines.

Mom calls. MT DMV needs my signature on some stuff. “Forge it,” I tell her. “I did,” she tells me. Then they gave her more documents, but only after she mentioned I was in DC, so now the game is up in Montana. MT DMV needs a signed and notarized power-of-attorney document saying that my mother can sign documents for me.

Have small heart attack due to disbelief. Ask why my father, a lawyer, can’t just forge a power-of-attorney document for me.

Leave DMV. Find bathroom stall. Cry.

Catch bus to my office. Print and fill out appropriate documents. Update my boss as to my situation. Try not to cry again. Berate myself for being so unprofessional.

Go to bank across the street. Sign and notarize power-of-attorney document. Withdraw some money. Nice teller lady offers to fax the doc for me, even though it’s against policy.

Fax machine won’t work. Go to FedEx and fax document there instead.

Call Sis. Tell her about the failure of Plan C, but that Plan D is the same as Plan C but can’t be implemented for a few days. Put together Plan E for the car in the meantime.

Go to work. Plan E fails, kinda. Put together Plan F.

Feel better once at work. Buy nice bottle of wine. Go home and drink half of it while watching trashy TV.

_______

So, that was my Valentine’s Day. This holiday is meant for celebrating love and companionship, and I spent it standing in line, mumbling obscenities about the human race, and feeling sorry for myself.  Pretty pathetic.

Oh well. At least I had some nice wine, at least my friends at work perked me up, and at least *I think* we got it figured out. I think. In any case, there’s a FedEx package winging its way toward me with new car registration in my freaking name, new license plates, and a new insurance policy…because, ya know, nothing is ever simple.


As an aside, I am now an expert on registering vehicles in the District. So hit me up if you have questions.

B.A. : It stands for...

In about three weeks I will walk across a stage, not trip in front of my entire class and their families, humbly accept my diploma, and officially graduate.

Great. Wonderful.  That’s just bloody phenomenal. 

It actually IS bloody phenomenal, but I don’t really want to talk about graduation.  (And I bet you don’t either. Especially if you’re also a senior.)  I want to talk about the value of my education. 

What does my BA really stand for?  I’ll give you a hint: it doesn’t rhyme with Rad Grass.

Haha, I bet I just made you think a naughty word.

Seriously though.  A B.A. is supposed to stand for Bachelor of Arts (though since I’m a woman, maybe I should have a Bachelorette of Arts? …Nevermind, not important). It shows that I spent four or more years attending to my education, “expanding my cranium and popping some neurons,” in the words of Mrs. Doubtfire.

I feel a little gypped, though.  In the Good Ole Days (notice the respect I accord them with my capitalization), a high school diploma was an advanced education.  It ensured men that they could run a store or a farm, and be financially responsible for both their business and their family.  It ensured women that they could…be teachers. Or get married.  (Ok, let’s change some things about the Good Ole Days.)

Not only was high school as far as you could go up the education ladder, it was free.  Major plus right there. 

Today, a Bachelor of Arts (or even of Science) is not free.  In fact, my college is about  120,000 times the opposite of free.  Furthermore, I’m not convinced that my modern-day college education is worth the price – the job market is telling me that my BA, my four years of intensive study, is not enough anymore.

Somehow, college is beginning to feel a bit like high school.  Like something everyone does because they are supposed to and because it’s the minimum requirement for the job market.

I ran across some statistics.  Let me share them with you.

• 84% say that it is extremely (37%) or very (47%) important to have a college degree in order to get ahead.


• 87% strongly (68%) or somewhat (19%) agree that a college education has become as important as a high school diploma used to be.


• 78% strongly agree (38%) or agree (40%) that college is not doing its job if its graduates are not prepared to enter the job market.


• 96% say that career training is a very (72%) or somewhat (24%) important goal for colleges and universities.


• When asked in another way about the relative importance of a well-rounded education versus job training, the public is divided. Half (51%) of the public say that if they had a child in college, it would be more important for their child to get a well-rounded education; 40% think that training for a well-paying job would be more important.

Statistics compiled by highereducation.org from surveys done by a variety of sponsors, including Time, CNN, and the National Center for Public Policy and Higher Education.

So, according to these statistics a college education is vitally important but it might not be doing its job in preparing me for a job, and 40% of America thinks my time would have been better spent training for a specific job rather than making myself well-rounded.

Well.  Isn't that encouraging.

Can I get my money back?

Before the class of 2011 jumps en masse off the nearest cliff, let's think critically for a bit. (Since that is, after all, what we're trained to do.)  In this reluctant economy, the odds of us being able to survive long-term at ONE particular job and vocation are very slim.  Most of us will bounce around a bit, and will probably switch careers a couple times -- and that is why we WANT to be well-rounded.  It gives us the ability to be adaptable.  Which is attractive to employers.  I know I'm gonna talk up my adaptability during job interviews.  I'm pretty much a chameleon. 

The other reason we should be glad we went to college: other people think it's important. By "other people", I mean parents and employers.  And your friends.  And your average Joe.  And your average Jane (since I am gender-inclusive).  The only ones who don't agree are those who didn't go to college, and yet found success anyway. Buggers.

The most important reason we should be glad we went to college: Uh, it's fun. Duh.