On my way home yesterday, I was stopped behind a Geo Metro at the light. “Geo” has the singular ability to warm my heart like no one else can; it was my first car. Encountering Geo is like running into my first love, as in Rusty my first “love” from preschool, not Carlton my first love from high school who transformed me into a living, breathing, burbling, hissing cauldron of wretchedness. Anyhoo, I couldn't help smiling when I saw that poor, beat-up little Metro yesterday. It took me back to a time of freedom, of unworried fun, of youth.
I bought my Metro when I was 18 years old. I had a pittance for the down payment and no credit history. I happily signed the loan contract for a car with no radio, no air conditioning, and a bloated 22% APR. On the bright side, my new car got approximately a gillion MPG and cost right around $7.00 to fill up. There was leg room for days, owing to the toy-sized 3 cylinder engine, and it had four doors (!), not just two like most economy cars.
I was smitten and I could tell that Geo felt the same about me. Oil changes? HA! I bought a case of 10W30 Pennzoil and checked the oil level when I could remember. Washing my car involved taking advantage of the free-with-fill-up gas station car washes; I never paid extra for the blow dry. I tested the boundaries of my speedometer and waited years to get the first tune-up. No matter how flagrant my mistreatment was, though, Geo never left me stranded. We were solid, a team.
Oh, sure, Geo and I had our problems. My Metro wasn’t meant for speed (duh) and I was a reckless teenager. When I drove on the freeway, my car often shuddered due to my leadfooted tendencies. The result was a vicious cycle of warped, unbalanced tires that cause my already taxed car to shake even more violently, thus further deforming the tires. Driving at speeds greater than 30 MPH with all four windows rolled down produced punishing, throbbing pulses of sound that made me cry tears of blood. During the summer I was forced to choose between this torturous thumping and oppressive heat that transformed the interior of my car into a molten hell pit. One windy summer day I made the foolhardy decision to drive with my windows down. On a particularly high overcrossing, for a brief, terrifying moment, Geo and I achieved lift-off – not surprising given that I could probably have lifted my Metro with one hand, even if a child wasn’t trapped underneath.
As predictably as the passing of the seasons, Geo and I started to annoy each other. The lack of air conditioning was taking its toll, especially on occasions when I needed to look like I didn’t just arrive from a day at the lake. I finally did have a stereo, but three of my four speakers were blown out and I couldn’t justify replacing them. My years of neglect were obvious as no amount of wax could transform the finish on my car. The paint looked like primer; I officially drove a hoopty. Then, the heater core broke one winter and water constantly leaked into my car. Geo was tired and I was ready to move on.
Tenuous relationships can linger for months sometimes - even years - until there’s a blowout that mercifully institutes a conclusion to the ridiculous hanging on. I ended up crashing and rolling my Metro. The damage didn’t seem too serious, so I was shocked when the insurance company opted to total my car. Apparently, Geo Metros are not manufactured with frames (ohmygodIcouldhavedied). These types of cars, I learned, are called “unibodies”, so repairs can become quite costly compared with the overall price of the car; the car with no frame; the cheaply made car of death.
I made a lot of memories during my years with my Geo Metro, the bad ones tempered by time. Like most first loves, we weren’t destined to be together forever, yet I’m bound to this car by nostalgia. Delightful, self-indulgent, immoderate youth is so fleeting in actuality, but its impression is as ingrained as the scent of a campfire or freshly cut grass: transportive, enduring…wonderful.
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