Maddening Mis-Diagnosis

It's no secret that our Camry has suffered some seriously bad carma since we bought it a few years back.  Hitting a deer, rammed by a shopping cart, gouged by the garage door, spilled milk in the trunk, I could go on and on...  Thankfully all mutilations and manhandling this dang car seems to have attracted have all been fixed, cleaned, painted and patched, and only the high insurance premiums remain.

Everything except for the loose screw in my dashboard.

Mark has taken the dashboard off twice looking for the source of that mischievous and elusive clink-clank that rolls with each left and right turn, but it's never been found. It's like driving around a stinkin' Plinko board without a chance of ever winning anything.

Mark drove the Camry yesterday and I think he'd finally had enough. I could tell by the desperate scene I came upon...

I happened to look out the window towards our driveway and saw a car driving up.  It looked like our Camry but it didn't turn into the garage.  It drove right past and kept going around our circle drive. I assumed it was someone who'd erroneously turned up our driveway by mistake.  But then the car circled around again.
And again.
And Again.

At first I thought maybe Connor and his buddy Sev had decided to take the Camry for a joy ride.  Alarmed that a couple of criminally bored 13-year olds might be at the helm of my car, I stepped closer to the window and gave the scene a more discriminating look.  It wasn't Connor after all, it was Mark. But what the heck was he doing??

What he was doing was trying to once-and-for-all locate the loose screw!  After ten minutes of circling the drive, he finally pulled up and headed for the tools.  Never a good sign.  Once again he pulls the dash off and goes searching.  And, no surprise, comes up with nothing.

Then he goes back to circling the drive.  This time with poor Connor precariously perched half in the passenger seat and half way under the driver's side dash.  They're veering and zig-zagging the car around the driveway while the faint echo of the seat belt alarm was ding-ding-dinging from the scant parts left on the dashboard.

They finally pull back into the garage and Mark puts the dash back together and the proceeds to take out the front drivers seat:

After Connor spent time secluded under the car's dash in what I can only imagine was some freakish circus pose to lodge himself under there while his dad drove like a madman around our drive, he was totally convinced that whatever the loose thing was, he was certain it was not in the dash at all.  He decided it was somewhere in the seat.

 So out came the seat.  They were leaving no stone, dash, or seat unturned.

And look what Mark found...

Our loose screw turned out to be this stinkin' marble which had rolled under the seat, underneath the carpet, and lodged itself in a slot for the driver's seat!  Ahhhhhhhh!


Another ban has now been instituted at the Skillman house.  

NO MARBLES. Ever.

and now, peace at last in the Camry. 


...Except suddenly the "service required" light is now on.  I'm betting that what is required is that the dash to be put back on correctly by an authorized mechanic.


There's no winning with this Camry!

Maintenance Required?

The Maintenance Required light is lit up on my Camry's dashboard these days. The "maintenance" that it's referring to is pretty dang obvious so I think it's just plain rude that my possessed car thought it would be appropriate to blare this warning light right in my face while I drive. Only an idiot would not to know what the problem is.

The light came on right after this happened...

...as if I needed a light to tell me there's a problem.  And seriously, I think in this particular situation, there's more than a little "Maintenance Required" here.  Why isn't a "Seance Required" light flashing??  That's the light that should have come programmed on my dashboard.

My poor dang Camry has been the subject of many a blog post. And not positive happy blog posts either. For a new-ish car, the poor thing has been featured in way waaaaay too many crash and ding kinda posts--exxxpennnnsive kinda posts.

The car's maiden voyage into crash-dom happened on the eve of our daughter Cheyenne's wedding. When the car was brand spankin' new.  Cheyenne was running an errand the night before her nuptials and absentmindedly made a wide sweeping turn inside our garage gashing the front bumper on the wall on her way out. The car didn't even have to leave home to suffer its first blow. The gash was fixed not long after but the whole experience was hardly forgotten. All children have since been banned from driving my car on or near their wedding day. Not a real problem since we don't plan on having another family wedding for years to come.

The Wedding Wipe Out was just the start of a series of bangs, dents, scratches, and loathsome lacerations the poor car has suffered since that fateful day. And after each crash we fork out the cash and have the ill-fated thing patched up, buffed out, and painted over. Happily the car looks brand new after each repair, and the only folks who know its dirty dinged-up secret is me and my body shop guy...and, well, my loyal blog readers who are forced to read all these Crash Chronicles. But to everyone else, my secret is safe, my car still looks shiny and new...until now, when, oddly enough, there was in fact ANOTHER FAMILY WEDDING.  Hmmmmm.

Since this latest crash, word has gotten out that my car is a magnet for mayhem. I've noticed as I drive around people steer clear of me and avoid me if at all possible.  But as I see it, I'm starting to think there's a WEDDING CURSE on my car. Lucky for my children, none of them crashed the car during this recent family wedding.  It was our poor friend Amanda that was the latest victim of my Camry's famously sadistic maneuver...the "Wedding Whack".

Amanda is one of my favorite teenagers of all time (and still is, even after crashing my car!).  If I could be a teenager again, heaven forbid, then I'd be AMANDA!   She's the prettiest tom girl you'll ever meet but she'll pummel you up if you give her any crap. That goes for boys or girls. And at 5'10" tall, she's still willing to rock a pair of killer stilettos if the occasion requires fancy footwear. I love a girl who loves to wear great shoes but will beat you with them if you make her mad. That's Amanda.

But as fate would have it, I asked poor Amanda to drive my Camry on the day of my niece Danielle's wedding.  I had completely forgotten my possessed Camry's prior record for such events and tossed her the keys to my car and asked her to bring the little kids and meet us there at the wedding.

Poor girl, it wasn't her fault.
I think she was doomed the second she took the keys to my cursed Camry. That car has a mind of it's own, kinda like Herbie when it turns into an evil car hellbent for destruction.

Just five feet from the entrance to the parking lot where the wedding was taking place, a car in front of her suddenly jammed on their brakes without warning and Amanda slammed right into the car ahead of her.  I'm sure she wanted to die right then and there! Nobody ever likes crashing a car, let alone someone else's car.  And just a few feet from her destination!

Amanda pulled the car into the parking lot and I'm pretty sure she was mortified--poor thing.  Then she saw Mitchell whose eyes were wide in disbelief.  Amanda got out of the car and had that look on her face like, 'Your mom is gonna kill me!'

But I don't think Mitchell was even the least bit shocked that my Camry had gotten into yet another skirmish.  He just looked at her and said, "Don't worry about the car, what you need to worry about is my mother blogging this...that is much worse than the car."

Seriously people. You have to laugh. What is this now? The 5th crash? Sheesh. It only serves to confirm my suspicions that there is indeed a Wedding Curse on my car. Or perhaps a car curse just in general.

...then again maybe my car has a crush on my auto-body repairman.  Whatever it is I know one thing for certain...

Mitchell was right.  Amanda need not worry about my car.  This blog post full of colorful pictures of that fateful day, maybe.  Hopefully she'll forgive me. My summer's been so crazy I haven't posted on my blog in a while. I need to post something, and this is just the thing.

 
I love you Amanda! Not my car so much, but I definitely love Amanda.

I've Got a Screw Loose

I know, I know, many of you who know me are not surprised by the frank confession that I've got a screw loose. But I'm not talking about myself. No, it's worse than that.

Regrettably the offending loose screw can be found inside my NEWish car. The same dang car that has been shamefully featured in previous postings for it's malady of mars, plague of punctures, and rash of recalls.

And one would think that since all the dents and dings have been removed, all teenage drivers have been suspended from driving or even looking at the car, and all it's peevish recalls have been adequately addressed, that this would finally put an end to my freakish car crisis once and for all.

Not so.

It seems my car and I are just not destined to live happily ever after. I've chalked it up to a case of bad Carma and I've determined that my Camry is possessed and may indeed be in need of a séance. Can you do that to a car? because seriously, I think my car is in need of one. If by chance I can't find someone to perform this sort on thing on a car, then I am seriously considering putting some holy water in the wiper fluid container and then dousing the thing by spraying the windshild with a liberal push of the wiper's spray lever thereby giving it a cleansing bath and ridding it of the demons myself.

In the meantime, this latest transportational torment is that my car's got a freaking screw loose. What's worse is the location of the darn screw which is heckling me from somewhere under the dashboard--and not just the dashboard but the dashboard area located on the driver's side where, I might painfully add, the DRIVER is in the best position in the car to hear it rattle in mocking tones, back and forth--back and forth, with every sharp turn. AHHHHHHHHH!

So a few days ago while stopped at an intersection I couldn't take it anymore and ripped the underside of my dashboard off in a fit of clink-clank induced rage. Of course I found nothing and got honked at because I wasn't paying attention to the light when it turned green. All I could see was red.  I of course missed the green light entirely and forced a whole slew of cars behind me to miss it as well but I didn't really care. I was having a serious car crisis.

Finally I abandoned my errands and headed strait home where I informed Mark with all seriousness that my car was possessed and that a random screw needed to be purged from my demonized car before I drove it off a cliff in a frenzied fit. (Sadly, it appears as though loose clanking screws are not within my scope of reasoned thought or mature behavior. Who knew?)

First Mark was suspicious of my analysis and took the thing for a test drive. Testosterone is always suspicious of a diagnosis made on a car by estrogen because estrogen can't possibly know much about cars.

On his first drive around he heard nothing and naturally determined I was crazy. And he was right as I then got a crazed look on my face and banished him to yet another test drive and threatened him not to come back until he heard the darn screw--even if it took all day.

Within a short while he sheepishly returned and confirmed my suspicions. 

He then determined the screw was somewhere in a pipe-like thingy running the length of the dashboard just above the drivers knees. He was determined to stop the madness (mostly my madness and not the screw's) and came up with a plan.

First, Mark decided to put a giant magnet on the pipe in hopes that the metal screw would slide on by and stick to the magnet and never move again. He put the magnet on and then drove like a mad man around town trying to slide the screw back and forth until it stuck. The result: absolutely nothing.

Next he decided to drill a giant hole into the pipe and then drive erratically throughout the countryside until he jiggled it out as if my car was like those little maze-like games kids play trying to get a little metal ball from one end to the other. The result: screw still loose, car warranty now completely voided.

For his Third and final attempt, Mark decided to spray foamy stuff inside the pipe, drive the car around until the screw slide into the foaming trap and stuck there forever. The result: screw sound disappeared but the stench of chemicals stung our eyes every time we drove the car. Worse yet, for the first two days I swear our family got a little tipsy in the car while driving it. Even on our trip to church no less. How's that for awkward? Our whole family inhaling intoxicating fumes on the way to church and as a result, we arrive all smiley and giggly. That said, under the influence of our chemical car ride, it was probably one of the best sermons we've ever heard at church. Nonetheless, I don't think it's really a good thing being sauced on the Sabbath even if it was accidental.

For a solid week that car stung our eyes and gave us headaches and a mild case of the giggles. But still not so much as a Clink or a Clank of a loose screw could be heard from that car. Just splendid screw-less silence.  The headaches were a small price to pay to have our sanity back. Happily the smell is now dissipating and so is the memory of that evil loose screw.

On my way home last night I was happy my car and I were at long last content. I made a sharp turn into my driveway to confirm the last of my auto aggravations were finally behind us...I heard nothing. Just me, my headache, and a saucy smile.

Then as I made another sharp turn into my garage...
CLINK...CLANK...
My loose screw is back.
My sanity...completely gone.

Crying Over Spilled Milk

The milk spilling was the last straw.  Seriously. I may have to be medicated.

Last year I bought a new car.  The purchase was meant to offset "The Beast" --the huge Ford Excursion that I haul my kids and their friends around town with.  But once the kids were all in school full time, it began to be just me driving solo in this massive vehicle. It was a lot of extra work and gas just to run errands, especially since I live in a town where that new-fangled "Prius" reigns supreme, making it far easier to recycle a fridge full of freon than to force  "The Beast"  into the teensy-weensy parking spots that my eco-friendly town insists on providing.  So I bought a second car.

I bought a plain ol' Camry--nothing fancy--and yes, it's the one that got recalled shortly after I bought it.  This should have been some sort of odious sign of things to come but my inner oracle is a little rusty and I did not pick up on this classic foreshadowing.  I guess I was distracted by the car's ability to zip here and there, park anywhere, and that it cost just $40 to fill up.

What I didn't realize at the time is that the recall was just the freakish beginning of its repertoire of ruin.  Apparently one of the extra features it came with was a giant invisible bulls-eye that courts calamity. In the short year I've owned it, the darn thing has taken a beating over FIVE times...no, wait, make that SIX...as of yesterday.

First was the Cart Caper. [Passenger's Side]

The darn thing was just barely two weeks old when it was bludgeoned by a shopping cart full of food.  Whomever did it must have been illiterate because they didn't leave a note.  It caved in the entire passenger's side door with a GIANT unmistakeable imprint which included an exact impression of the cart's metal crosshatching and the grocery store's logo. Before the local body shop could replace the entire door altogether, I had to drive my new car around with "Albertson's" stamped unmistakably on the side.

Next was the Wedding Wipeout. [Right Front]

Fast forward a few months later when a certain child, in the throws of pre-wedding jitters, the night before her big day, smashed the right front end into my garage during a hasty jaunt into town.  Not wanting to upset her parents the night before her big day (a smart move on her part),  she conspired with a few accomplices until she was safely away on her honeymoon.  These accomplices, like many young drivers, were shrewd and clever at kicking dents out of cars just enough to ambush a parental keen eye.  They came and banged it back into place sufficiently enough conceal the crime so I wouldn't notice for a few days.  Just enough time to get the bride safely out of town.

Then there was the Great Garage Gouge. [Rear]

That would be when one of the younger kids prematurely shut the garage door on the poor car before it had been parked all the way inside.  It completely gouged the back bumper (perhaps this is why people laden their cars with bumper stickers--a ruse for a vehicular band-aid). This is when I decided that the motion detectors designed to keep the garage door from shutting on pets and small children is a highly misguided safety feature.  What it really should be protecting is the car!  I have plans to raise the sensors to bumper height and let the pets and children fend for themselves.

Sadly, next was the Double Door Ding.  [Driver's Side]

Which occurred when an unnamed child (uh, I'm trying to be discreet here but really, there's only one underage driver left at home--yes, the one that's not too keen on being blogged about) hit an icy patch on the driveway and came to a stop by lightly T-boning my car--which was mysteriously NOT parked in the the garage (I've got a re-parking bandit on the loose).  Despite the low-speed collision, it still dinged up the driver's side right smack on the seam of both doors.  Back to the body shop where I was now customer of the month-three months in a row.

Then the Deer in the Headlight.  [Left Front]

Which happened on the way to nearby town.  In which the same unnamed driver hit a deer, though the poor kid insists the deer hit him.  Naturally the deer had to wipe out the only place on the car that had thus far gone unmolested--the front left side including the headlight. This officially made my new Camry completely and entirely banged up on every side of the car.  And despite having most dents removed, I can't help but remember that underneath the shiny exterior of my once-new car is a whole lotta Bondo and buff work. This leaves me with the only thing I have left of a shiny new car...the inside.  It still smells new from the inside. Until...

The episode that sent me Crying Over Spilled Milk

This sad debaucle was NOT detected until waaaaaaay past the expiration date of a long lost gallon of milk.  Making this crime the most offensive and longest lingering of all the tragedies suffered so far.  There is no amount of bondo that can make this problem go away.

One of the things I like about the Camry was that it offered a cavernous trunk, turns out to be not such a great feature after all. It's so big that things can get lost in there.  Important things, like the kind of stuff that have expiration dates on them.

Somehow when I sent the children out to unload a trunkful of groceries (that may have been my first mistake given their criminal rap sheet in regards to my car) they completely overlooked a gallon of milk.  As days passed and curvy roads were traveled, this little rolling renegade found sanctuary behind a toolbox I keep hidden in my trunk in a vain attempt to keep tools away from the small kleptomaniac hands that live inside the house.  What I didn't realize was that my little stashed away toolbox is just the right height and weight to provide sanctuary for a runaway gallon of milk. There it harbored it for weeks until the fateful day--long past it's expiration date, some speed-induced car maneuver must have finally and fatefully dislodged the lactose time-bomb from it's shadowed concealment and sent it rolling to the opposite corner of the trunk where it finally burst in all it's rancid glory.

And now, presently, I am the sad owner of a smelly banged up car. So if you happen to see me running errands around town and I'm all by myself in "The Beast", you'll know it's because my master plan for getting a second car to ease my troubles...stinks.

Anyone wanna buy a used Camry with only 20,000 miles on it?