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.