Remember how my car shuddering like it was Apollo 11 re-entering the Earth’s atmosphere whenever I used the brakes?
Well, it turns out there were several problems with the brakes, including a leaking thingamajig that could have resulted in them failing.
So it cost me $1600 yesterday to get the effing orange money pit on wheels fixed.
I am very unhappy about still having the Renault Captur after the many, many, many ways it has almost killed me, but it’s hard to get a car loan when you’re a freelance journalist.
It’s also hard to pay $1600 to have your car repaired when you’re a freelance journalist, just months after paying than $3000 for my contribution to its new engine.
I would say it’s unbelievable, but it’s actually all too believable.
I was feeling pretty wrecked yesterday from over scheduling my weekend, so I didn’t have much fight in me when the Renault service centre called with the unhappy news. I just said fine and asked if it could be ready by 2pm so I could take the youngest to work and pick up the eldest’s major work from school.
They assured me the car would be ready, then stopped answering the phone/screening their calls. At 2.30pm I decided to walk to the repair centre so I could stare them down in person.
On the way, I heard a couple of yahoos hoon past me – I looked up and it was the mechanics giving my shite box a spin. I took that as a positive sign the car was roadworthy.
At 3.15pm, I finally handed over my credit card and raced off to become a mum taxi in my orange lemon.
I always tell myself “what else could go wrong with it?” And it somehow finds new ways to fail me.
Repeat after me: never buy a Renault, never buy a Renault, never buy a Renault …
Song of the day: Split Enz “I hope I never”