I picked up my car this afternoon. It’s a 1987 Chevy Chevette, dark blue, and it’s falling apart. I had to have the alternator replaced, $141.69. This is the second time it’s been in the shop recently; two weeks ago, I just got it back after having the starter and flywheel (what the hell’s that?) fixed to the tune of $517.
I’m feeling a bit disturbed by this; have been for awhile. I want to buy a new car, but I keep spending my savings on keeping this one running.
In Indianapolis, you have to have a car; public transportation is only for people who are seriously poor. There is only a bus system and it doesn’t run everywhere, all the time. Catching a bus is time-consuming and difficult.
If I wanted to catch the bus to work, I’d have to get up three hours earlier than I normally do, walk six blocks to the correct bustop (in the dark), and catch the bus north for a two hour bus trip. The bus will only go as far as 96th and Meridian, so I would have to walk six more blocks to 103rd, where I work.
It’s amazing to me how much not having my car affects my sense of identity. I feel helpless without a car, and less than a person. Which is, in this city, how you are meant to feel. In a country and a city where the car is king, if you don’t have one, there’s something wrong.
Which really makes me want to move.