My car hates me. I don't blame it actually, I allow those children to ride in it and fill it with toys, clothes, candy wrappers, three week old chicken mcnuggets, and an assortment of sticky half-eaten candy that they use to decorate the inside of the roof. I also have a foolish tendency to watch the road while driving and ignore the scotch tape and Kim Possible stickers with which they are covering every available space of the rear windows. I could explain how it is possible to turn a four door sedan into a rolling garbage can, but it would only sound as if I were excusing myself for my lack of parental vigilance. Truthfully, I buy them the food to fill their mouths with something other than bickering and shrill sound effects while we drive and maintain a level of peace that keeps me from following stray thoughts about driving into oncoming traffic. (Stop gaping in horror. Sure, like you never thought of that.)

I drive a black 2000 Ford Recall. Well, Ford actually calls it a Focus. I am not sure what they were focusing on when they designed it. This particular model of vehicle has had no fewer than nine recalls since it was introduced. The amazing thing is that almost nothing that goes wrong with my car is mentioned in any of these recalls. I should have known better than to buy another vehicle from the same dealership who sold me my last Ford. That Escort was very dear to me, I loved that car, but as with the Focus it had strange and ridiculous things go wrong with it. When I recevied the recall notice that said the ignition might catch fire, I decided that might be a good way for it to go and threw the notice away. Alas, it never did combust, the transmission went long before I got to see it go up in a blaze of glory.

The Focus though, it has a certain style all its own. About two years ago a strange thing started to happen with the key. It refused to come out of the ignition at times. Other times it would slide right out. Yes, I tried the graphite and the spare key and it didn't seem to matter. I also noticed that when the key would not come out, the car assumed it was not off and you could put it into gear. Originally, I always locked the doors due to a foolish misconception that someone might actually try to steal it. Now I try to encourage that but so far, no takers. Eventually the ignition held onto the key more often than it released it, and although at first I blamed the key, the weather, sunspots, UFO activity and almost any other phenomena I could observe at the time, I realized that the problem with my car was that it was the one in 10,000 out of the factory that was simply a lemon. With a twist. The problem has progressed to the stage where I never remove the key because if I do, it often won't go back in.

My last encounter with the dealership came after I received several alarming letters from Ford about recalls they did not have notice of my having had repaired. Yeah, whatever. Still I thought perhaps they might decide this ignition problem is covered under the warranty. I know, I probably had too much sugar that day. But I made the appointment to take it in anyway. The first time I spoke to the mechanic, he told me he had a silver Focus in there that had the same problem. I experienced hope for the first time. I ordered up an oil change and allowed them to repair the problems on the three recalls I had so far and to investigate the problem of the key.
After one or two encouraging phone conversations with the mechanic, I really started to believe. I felt like little Natalie Wood discovering that Edmund Gwenn really is Santa. This illusion was short-lived, however.

I arrived at the dealership to find them taking apart the gear shift. Yes, the gear shift. This was the problem with the key they said. They now denied having any other vehicle ever come in with such a problem. Did I forget to mention that blonde, female customers often get spoken to by auto mechanics as if they were complete morons? I remembered that this was the same dealership that tried to sell me a $150 window regulator when a quick inspection revealed that only the $3 plastic channel spacers needed replacing.(They are still waiting for me to come in and have that part installed). He wanted to know, did I want them to order a new gear shift? I looked him square in the eye and said "no thank you, if I am lucky perhaps someone will steal it before the next recall". He didn't seem to think that was amusing and he tallied my bill. $166.50. Since everything except the oil change and the key diagnostics were under warranty or a free repair due to a recall, even to a blonde mind this seemed a little steep. I asked him to break that down for me. Soon he discovered that yes, he missed something that should have been under warranty. $144.50 please. Fine, I said. Can you please break that down for me? And surprise, I had just made it in under the wire on another repair that amazingly was under warranty after all. $122.50. I again, with squinted gaze asked for a breakdown of that figure. Well, after 25 minutes the bill ended up at $96.50 and I couldn't get out of that, since it was labor for checking out the key problem that hasn't been recalled yet and the oil change and oil filter. Besides I had to pick my son up at daycare and didn't have time to beat him down to a reasonable price for not having actually done anything about it.

My car has suffered several rear endings, a few backing intos and multiple parking lot dings and scratches. The right side mirror is held on with duct tape (a very long story in itself, but blame a 4 foot snow and a snowblower operator with poor depth perception) and as I said, is the family's recycle bin. I have taken to leaving it unlocked and key in the ignition nearly everywhere, no one would ever consider taking it. In fact recently, as a result of never taking out the key I also forgot to turn the car off. I left it running in the parking lot at work for four hours with the doors unlocked and it was no surprise to find it still there, waiting for me. I fear it will always be that way. It will be waiting for me. It hates me.