Yesterday, I was informed that my ‘93 Buick Century is…(to put it delicately for myself) retiring.
It didn’t pass inspection, for a variety of really obvious reasons. It’s 20 years old after all.
So, allow me a moment to pay tribute and respect to this heap of junk and all that it’s done for me.
I was 20 years old when the car was bestowed upon me (it was my grandparents’ car…I remember them getting it when I was in kindergarten. I also remember running away from it multiple times when I would ride my bicycle in the driveway of my childhood home).
It was 2007, between my sophomore and junior years of college.
It was one of the roughest summers of my life. I was going through my first real heartbreak, working full-time…the car was one of the high points of an otherwise crappy time. Finally, I didn’t have to ask permission to borrow the car…I had my own baby to take care of.
Finally, I could drive myself wherever I wanted. I could bring myself to and from college. I could get a job off-campus during the school year. (And I did, Blockbuster, which was the best part-time job ever). Since that summer, nearly 6 years ago, the Buick (named Bu’, pronounced “byoo”) has basically been my partner in crime. I’ve gotten some crap for it, but I was always proud!
I have to thank it for making it this far. For driving me to and from King’s College when I was still in school. For having a bench seat so that I could pile as many friends as possible inside to make the trip to Jim Thorpe, to Hickory Run, or to the Hometown Auction. For at least having a tape deck so I could plug in my Zune and blast all of my favorite tunes. For making it to and from various concert trips to Philadelphia. For making it to and from New Jersey for a day trip to the beach. For making it to and from Long Island to visit a long distance friend.
For getting me to and from work, which is 20 minutes away. For getting me to and from Brad’s house, because who knows if the relationship would’ve even started if I couldn’t get to him (and away from my hometown) without it.
I have laughed, cried, freaked out, and talked to myself in this car. It has seen a lot of weird things.
And I’ve seen it do weird things. I’ve watched a cop pull my muffler off because it was dragging on the road behind me.
I’ve been followed by a police car because my car stalled and I didn’t know whether or not I would make it home.
I was pulled over twice. Once for going through two stop signs (I didn’t even notice, that was bad), which I got a ticket for. The second time was for “not using my turn signal” on some crappy merging roads in NJ…I only got a warning for that one because it was BS.
The Bu’ has been a massive part of my growing up process. It’s heartbreaking to see it go…but it made it a lot farther than any of us could have ever imagined and I’m thankful that I got to have this crazy, rusty gray boat to call my own for so long.
Thanks for the memories, Bu’. I’ll miss ya.