The Beach Slum

 People like to say I’m stubborn.  Okay, that’s a lie. They say I’m pigheaded and will cut off my nose just to spite my face.  I won’t lie to you. That’s all true. I’m writing this from my phone in a Lyft on my way to my night job, after I. I dropped my car off at the mechanic.  Let me explain. I went to the shop after work to ask Alex about his opinion on my car. Was it worth it, cost/worth, value, etc. He said his professional opinion wouldn’t count, but his personal opinion was: “Look at my 2001 Impala. I’ve had the transmission changed twice now. I’ve rebuilt the engine totally once. And she’s barely at 140,000 miles. Your transmission lasted 240,000 miles. Your engine has too. That’s all I’m going to say.” But then he went on: “I know you spoke to Mo [the owner’s son] about $2200. I went to him and redistributed the way the transmission would be rebuilt, to reduce the labor. It’s $1800.” $1800? $1800! A transmission rebuild that cost three hundred more than my f...

 I’m writing this from my phone at work because I was just given an estimate for the transmission.  $2200 for everything: rebuilt part, labor, etc.  I was willing to pay some rando $2600. Someone tell me how a transmission estimate is cheaper than a timing belt estimate? Fuck Parra’s Auto Repair, for real.  Most people want me to call it a wash. At this point, they tell me, it’s basically the same price as buying a new car. And I’m not blind, or stupid; I know that.  But I also know these things: I won’t know a new car like I know Dani. A new car could be a dream or a nightmare six months down the road. I know when her repairs were done and the estimates of when they’ll need to be done again.  I know her spirit and her soul and the way she won’t make a peep until she absolutely dies. Until she absolutely has to fail before she risks permanent death. I know that I swore to her I’d take care of her like she hadn’t been before. How am I supposed to look myself...

      It was not the fuel pump.     Maybe I was just really hopeful, or really naive, but even as I tried to convince myself, none of those symptoms seemed to fit well. Like how a sinus infection and flu can seem very similar, but they’re not. Or some other medical analogy. How seizures can be a symptom of another disease instead of epilepsy. I digress. As much as the symptoms fit a bad fuel pump and as much as I wanted it to be that simple, my gut was telling me I was wrong. It was something else. But I'm not a mechanic, so it was a smidge of naivete that led me to blindly believe the same research methods that had given me correct answers before.     My gut was right. It was  something else.     Dani's transmission is starting to fail.     When I first bought her, the guy had said there had been no transmission errors, and my mechanic friend who had gone with me to inspect all the cars I ever went to see, said that that was g...

      My car is a hot mess, but we all knew that.     As I'm typing this, I'm slamming three White Claws down, by the way. I hate today, and I hate things I have to think about. No one judge me. I don't drive, I just sit in my room and watch my comfort shows. Right now it's Superstore.     Anyway, Dani is a mess, but who isn't?     My sister likes to slam Dani the way I slam alcohol-- quickly, and harshly, and both end with a simmering burn in my stomach that likes to linger.     If it's not the jokes about my car being a death trap, it's the jokes about the amount of repairs. If it's not about the repairs, it's about the way I drive her. If it's not about the way I drive, it's about the way I worry about her. The way I value her.     My sister drove Dani before I got her rotors fixed. I had driven my sister's car to work until I could fix Dani's rotors, and my sister realized she needed her car to bring it to her dealersh...

    "People who think you can be all you can be by pulling up by your bootstraps are typically people who never had to worry about having boots to start with."     Eileen Cook said that in The Almost Truth  and I have never gotten over it.     Today I was told that I was miserable and hadn't had a day off in months and should really think about getting one better job to replace my two miserable ones.      What a fucking concept, right? What a goddamn fucking novel concept that had never occurred to me. Did you guys know I'm apparently so stupid that these thoughts had never occurred to me? It's the epilepsy, I swear. My epileptic brain saw two jobs and thought that meant double the money of a well-paying singular job, and said WHEEEEEE two jobs!     What actually happened is this: I meant to quit my first job when I got my second one. But I was making more money at the first one, and thought it couldn't hurt to test out having ...

     A while ago-- so, last week-- I was asked why Dani is so important to me. I was going on a tirade about how I would take on a third job, a fourth job; I would eat coffee beans, snort ground coffee, start taking provigil, sleep one hour, if it meant Dani wouldn't die on me. When I die, what am I going to remember? The hours I spent working and her longevity, or the way I gave up and let her die because I was too lazy to work?     The last sentence always makes me tear up.     The truth is, when I took a breath in my tirade and the person sitting next to me asked that question, it felt like my entire body stopped, and suddenly the only function working was the ability to produce tears. I had to blink them furiously back, squeeze my eyes shut and clench my hands until the tears dried up where they were.      I wasn't sure why I wanted to sob so hard and so immediately. The answer seemed fairly easy to me, but would be entirely too clos...

      Remember July 25th? How I was going to bring my mechanics gifts for the first anniversary of my first repair at their shop? Well, let me tell you. The brownies and Gatorade were a massive success. Alex said that I had great timing because they had just run out of water. (I bought four tubs of brownies for two reasons: I wasn't sure how many mechanics they had, and the tubs seemed kinda small, tbh) (Alex told me they only have four mechanics. Fuck.)     But he also laughed-- good naturedly-- when he saw I had a card too. why is every anniversary card a wedding one? I know that's like, the most common, but. Hallmark chill. ("From catalytic converters & serpentine belts to alternators and buffing paint off-- you guys are the BEST. Thanks for everything, especially when I was crying on the phone in another state.")     They're hanging it on the wall.     I was definitely the first person to ever celebrate one year of car repairs. It's j...

      I reported Parras Auto Repair to the Bureau of Automotive Repair in California. Price gouged to shit, harassed to hell, and I absolutely was not about to pay that crook $2600 for the way he called me a bitch, made me cry and drive six hours to have my personal mechanics check it out.      I got a call today and the investigator reported the results of my complaint. Chris, the owner, said he would accept my offer of $1500, as long as I took down that Yelp review.      What Yelp review? I don't even have a Yelp account. I make fun of people who write Yelp reviews. My sister writes Yelp reviews, and they're all so funny. I quote them to her.     The investigator went into details, and it literally all sounded like my sister, who had told me she wanted to write a Yelp review so bad, but hadn't had time. I told him that while some people wanted me to write a review, I hadn't done so yet, and neither had anyone I'd known.   ...

     That is not a lie. I named my car after Danny DeVito. Because she is short, ugly, but I love her and she just will not quit. And, like Matilda , my Dani has also taught me valuable life lessons.     Picture this, everyone. Let's take a journey.     My car is clear, I am fine. The Weekend of Music-- Taylor Swift night & emo night!-- is about to begin.     Taylor Swift night is me driving myself since no one I know is going, and no one wanted to go. I hate parking garages, but then again I've never been very good at driving on the Strip, since half the paint is faded and I can't tell what lines my car is supposed to follow. Instead of circling for parking, I opt for the parking garage. which. is. PACKED.     I go straight to the upper levels, which is usually my tactic for two reasons: no one likes the upper levels, and it's easier to remember that I parked my car on the highest bloody floor of the tallest bloody tower-- can ...

      This is the story of why you should never, ever, go to Parra's Auto Repair in Oxnard, California. The story of why, if you break down in Oxnard on a Sunday, just wait til Monday. Please, God, me, your car and your wallet are begging you.     So I leave Dani in Oxnard, right? That's where we left off. I go back to Las Vegas, because I have work, and obligations, and as much as I'd like to just dump them and stay by her side, I need to make money to pay her car bill.     I call Chris, the owner of Parra's Auto Repair, multiple times throughout the week, just asking for updates and checking on my car. He's thrilled every time, and even begins to recognize my voice.     Last Saturday night, July 10th, I called Chris to find out how much more time it'll take. It's been two weeks, I remind him. "You said two weeks max."     "Oh, of course, Jackie, I was going to call you! She'll be ready tomorrow, but at the latest, Monday."   ...