Zoom

I often mention my rusted-out station wagon because, well, it's funny sometimes.

It's got a radiator leak.

It's got a leak around the fuel tank which means I can never fill it up.

It has survived many hot Florida summers, but due to poor maintenance got a nice licking of rust.

It has a cracked rear bumper.

It overheats because a gasket needs to be replaced.

It doesn't really leave Atlanta at all because it may not make it very far - it almost never leaves Cobb, Bartow, Dekalb, or Fulton counties.

It's not in great shape, but still works about as well as we need it to work.

And yet, after all that, a couple of fucked-up cokeheads tried to carjack me while I was sitting at the corner of Auburn Ave. and Edgewood Ave. on my way back from Georgia State tonight after a brutal exam in my capstone class.

One guy began walking from the curb to the front of the car, in plain sight and very slowly, like many other homeless in the area. It caught my attention to the point I really didn't notice another man running at my car door - not to the person, not to anything else as there were no other cars, but definitely towards me and the car.

Thankfully, the decoy in front of me had not cut off all the angles, so I was able to swing the car to the right and swerve around him. I made a right onto Auburn Avenue through the red light (I was planning on going straight onto the Connector) and gunned the engine (as much as I could gun the engine on a fifteen-year old station wagon) to get away as fast as possible.

Thankfully, the limited pull on the engine was enough. A couple turns later I was on the interstate - though I still gunned it all the way home.

I'm pretty grateful right now that the engine didn't miss the gear change like it tends to do when cold - you can rev it, but it'll just idle for a few seconds before it catches. I'm also pretty grateful I always lock the car while in it.

But what does it say when folks are willing to take a chance on grand theft auto when the auto in question is an admitted and acknowledged (though still functioning) P.O.S. on its last legs?

Are the junkies and criminals getting that desperate here already? Is 1977 New York closer than we may have originally thought?

In summation, the car is fine, and I am fine, though the now-empty bottle of Chardonnay next to me has helped to calm my nerves down a lot.

For now, I'm glad the car worked and we were able to get away and that nothing worse happened. God forbid te car got stolen, or that I ended up running over one of them, or that one of us got hurt pretty bad, or that any sort of shooting were to come into play.

I don't think that would be a fun explanation for the kids.

Whew.