Creatures in my car
My car might be haunted. On Sunday, it was making a horrible grinding noise, a very loud grinding noise.
As I sit here making the noise, I bow my head for Tom Magliozzi, popular-but-deceased co-host of the NPR radio show “Car Talk.”
Side note: I loved “Car Talk,” but I find it hard to listen to the reruns knowing the Click half of Click and Clack is no longer with us. May he rest in peace.
But I digress, like I do. I feared driving my car Sunday. On Monday, I set out to drive it to the mechanic. Less than a mile into my journey, the car stopped making the noise. I proceeded to the mechanic’s anyway. Better safe than sorry, as they say. I don’t really know anyone who says that but me. My friends are too cool to spout corny aphorisms.
The mechanic drove it around (maybe he ran errands with it, I don’t know), and found nothing wrong with it. By the way, he didn’t charge me. I hope he at least used it to pick up his dry cleaning.
I was halfway home with it when it made a new and completely different noise. It was like a skittering on the passenger side. I really hope it’s haunted, because I suspect something far worse than ghosts in the machine.
Flashback: Late Saturday night in the Strip District, I ran over a rat. The rat was sitting in the middle of the street. He or she (rats can be girls) looked up at me right as I barreled toward it. I swerved. And then I closed my eyes. Yes, while I was driving. Don’t tell the cops.
I was so terrified I hit it, but I was more terrified I didn’t and that it crawled into the underside of my car and decided to live there.
The following morning is when the noise started. The ride home from the mechanic Tuesday is when it really started to sink in.
I had trouble sleeping Tuesday night. I kept picturing the rat nesting in my car, having babies. See! I told you rats can be girls. They’re actually scarier when they’re girls, now that I think about it.
Side note: Whenever I hear a woman talking about the miracle of birth, I always want to remind people that rats, snakes and spiders have babies. It doesn’t seem as miraculous when it’s a rat having a bunch of rat babies. It’s only a miracle when it’s a dog, cat or human.
So, I’m afraid to look under the car. I don’t want a pregnant rat leaping at my face, trying to protect her brood.
Picture it: “How did Mike die?”
“He was frightened to death by a family of rats that infested his car.”
I can think of no worse fate for myself.
I really hope it’s just squirrels. Or the transmission. Or ANYTHING ELSE!
“Mr. Buzzelli, we’re going to have to scrap it.”
“That’s OK. As long as it’s not rats.”
I might start car shopping, just in case.