Meet Your Friendly Neighborhood Automotive Assassin

by Jon Kaufman

Hi. My name is Jon and I am a killer of cars.

Recently, when returning from Lynchburg, I became stranded when my trusty Dodge Stratus decided to ascend to the great junkyard in the sky.  As vehicles whizzed by my flashing hazard lights on 460 West, I began to take inventory of my past four-wheeled transportation partners and wondered “How could one insignificant driver manage to slay a half a dozen cars in less than twenty years?”

Regardless of the make, model, color, or style, no car is safe when I walk on the lot.  My wife Janet swears that cars wince and slowly begin to roll away whenever I frequent a local dealer in search of a new victim.  As they say on “Criminal Minds”, my M.O. is almost always the same, although the cause of death varies slightly at times.  If the DMV kept a rap sheet on me, it would look something like this:

Toyota MR2-cause of death-transmission.

Toyota Tercel- cause of death-engine.

AMC Eagle-cause of death-transmission.

Dodge Stratus-cause of death-transmission.

Volkswagen Jetta-cause of death-engine.

Toyota Camry-cause of death-engine and transmission.

I am not sure what makes me “Car and Driver’s Magazine’s” public enemy #1, but, like most serial killers, I imagine it can linked back to my troubled past.  Those of you who read this column regularly are acutely aware that I have more issues than National Geographic magazine collector. Still most of my quirks are not considered to be destructive. Perhaps this evil springs from a childhood memory? Once, when returning from a trip to the mountains, a rear wheel flew off of our family’s Rambler station wagon and managed to pass us on the road before we grinded to a stop.  Could such trauma be responsible for my violent actions?

The first car I ever owned was a 1968 Mercury Cougar.  I purchased this chariot from a local repair shop for twenty-five dollars and owned it for three years, during which time I accumulated a repair bill for well over one thousand dollars. This was the first and only car I ever wanted to kill. Nearly violent, I sold this wreck to my sister Sally for sixty-eight cents.  Unfortunately, the Cougar brought ill fortune to poor Sally as well. Could all of these subsequent automotive assassinations be related to this early experience? Was I simply extinguishing the Cougar from hell over and over again?

Truth be told, my inability to master anything mechanical and a driving style that has landed me in driver improvement training four times (I’m a graduating senior) is clearly the root of this killing spree.  Currently I am driving my Mom’s 1994 Toyota Camry, a lovely ride with just sixty-four thousand lightly used miles on the odometer.  I love and miss my Mom and, frankly, I don’t trust myself around her vehicle.  It’s kind of like allowing your child to car pool with Thelma and Louise.

Just between you and me, I think I’m going to try to get my company to assign me a vehicle out of their fleet pool.  Please keep that information under your hat; you never know who might be reading over your shoulder.  In fact, if you don’t mind, take a quick peek over your shoulder just in case. If a strange man wearing a company logo golf shirt representing a large communication company is lurking behind you, please walk now.

A possibility exists that I may opt to fix my battered Stratus, thus temporarily sparing other unsuspecting vehicles from becoming targets for my dynasty of death.  Until then, keep your cars close people, it is only a matter of time before I strike again.

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