Category: I Also Love My Car

This is my beloved car–my 2000 Honda Civic DX. It still runs well and has less than 100,000 miles on it. I have no desire or need to get another car.

When I bought it, my sister and brother also owned black vehicles, affectionately nicknamed the Black Panther and the Black Phantom. The power of my car, with four cylinders and 106 hp, paled in comparison to theirs. Commensurate with that, I aptly named my car the Black Hamster. Over the years, the number of nicknames has expanded to include the Hamster, Ham-Star, and the Hammy. And cars that were similar to mine, but weren’t mine, I have derisively called the Fake-Star and the Wank-Star.

I bought it while I was a broke-ass student, so I opted for no options, only standard features.

Four doors? No, what for? I hardly ever roll four deep. Hell, I hardly ever roll two deep. Do you have a car with just one door? Can I pay less for that?

Air conditioning? No, what for? It has windows. (My wife HATES this to this day.)

Cassette player? CD player? No, what for? It has a radio.

Power doors? No, no power anything–no power doors, no power locks, no power windows, no power mirrors, no power seats. Everything manual (other than the transmission), including manual door locks and manual crank windows.

After all of these negative customizations, I was buying one of the cheapest new cars available for $13,000. But I still had to finance it since I was only making $18,000 a year. I had the audacity to apply for a $10,000, three-year loan, which on an annual basis, represented a big chunk–about 20%–of my gross income at the time. I also conveniently neglected to mention to the finance company that I had school loans and credit card debt.

My loan application initially went through, but got turned down after a second review for income reasons. I had to provide a letter from my future employer documenting that I would soon be gainfully employed and earning enough money to be considered a good credit risk for a loan on a Honda Civic with no options.

And that’s no options or features, circa 2000, which obviously means no options from the present–no GPS, no Bluetooth, no touchscreen, no climate control, no heated seats, no cameras, no parking sensors, no lane assist.

You know what else that means? My car is an amazing time machine. Kids get excited because they’ve never been in a car like mine, and once inside, they invariably start messing around with the manual door locks and crank windows. Kids understand how to operate the natural air conditioning system, and contrary to others, they absolutely love it.

I love it, too. This is my Honda–my one and only, my ride or die.

Having a car collision with a moving object? That can happen to anyone. That actually might not be your fault. Where’s the distinction and glory in that?

I’ve hit a number of stationary objects with my car. That’s all I hit, that’s my specialty. The thing I like best about it is there’s no doubt who is to blame; it is unquestionably 100% my fault and it helps solidify my status as a crappy driver. 

Trees, bush branches, dumpster, bench, brick wall, concrete post, fenders of other parked cars (at least three), the side of my neighbor’s parked truck. I’ve played bumper cars with all of them.

I proudly remember one particular occasion, eons ago, in which I was backing up my car in my apartment building parking lot. It was a small outdoor lot with five diagonal spaces. Difficulty level 1.

Initially unbeknownst to me, because I was laser-focused on the driving task at hand, my driving ineptitude was on full display for a very interested audience. An older guy–our widowed landlady’s “gentleman friend,” an old, crusty, New England type–completely stopped his yard work to watch me maneuver my vehicle.

In an effort to avoid contact with several cars on the passenger side, I swung out wide and made contact with several bush branches on the driver side. It made a terrible scratching sound.

After watching this pathetic exhibition, he said, “Be careful, you’re going to scrape the paint off the bushes!” and then started cracking up at his own joke. 

Good one, sir. You got me. I’m glad I could provide you with such cheap amusement. I’m useful for more than just the rent.