Can You Feel the Vibe?

vibe  (vaɪb)
— n
slang  a feeling or flavour of the kind specified: a 1970s vibe
[from vibration ]

From the outside, my 2003 Pontiac Vibe didn't look like much, but people were always amazed at how much room it actually had on the inside.  It was classified as a "sport wagon" which means it looked like a cross between a small sedan and either a station wagon or SUV. The Vibe had four doors and a hatch back as well rear seats that were backed with a hard plastic akin to a truck bed liner, so that when laid flat, formed a very tough and utilitarian cargo area.My two previous vehicles had been a 1990 Pontiac GrandAm and a 1998 Ford Escort.

The Pontiac was purchased used for my mom by her short-term second husband, and given to me when I left for college after graduating high school. He did not appreciate this, and I believe may have cursed the car with a voodoo hex. The brakes got so bad that I almost had to employ a Fred Flinstone-esq method of sticking my feet out the sides to slow it down. We had a lifetime warranty with Allied Tires, which meant that every time I took it in, they told me my brakes were fine. They were lying. Their lifetime alignment guarantee also meant I ended up with five blown out tires, all on the front right. I got really good at changing a tire. The headliner inexplicably fell down and after I got frustrated enough to rip it out, the air conditioning died as well. This resulted in little yellow puffs of insulation being blown into your eyes and hair while traveling with the windows down. Finally, the driver side window ceased to function at all (even though it rolled down manually), which left me with A. no means of cooling myself off while sitting in traffic in Southern Florida during the summer and B. the inability to utilize drive thru windows, ATMs, or to comply with the nice policeman when he pulled me over for speeding. Luckily, I was eventually rear-ended and the resulting insurance was used to purchase my next vehicle.

The 1998 Ford Escort was found in the paper by my mother. It had been used as the fleet vehicle for the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints. Somehow, they forgot to bless it. Within a month, the radiator died and had to be replaced. For over a week beforehand, I drove through the Florida summer with my heater blasting in order to keep it from overheating. A useful trick, although difficult on your sweat glands. The air conditioner died once or twice, and had its windows broken out one week after a new CD system was installed as a Christmas present. The Escort met the same fate as the GrandAm, although when I was rear-ended this time, it was by a young kid in a large pickup truck. It was raining, the roads were wet, and the traffic was heavy. Kaylee was in her crate in the backseat when I felt myself losing control. We spun around and hit the guardrail, and the last thing I remember was telling Kaylee to hold on. I woke up in the hospital with staples in my head and a neck brace on. Miraculously, although the trunk was mostly in the back seat, Kaylee survived unharmed. She was understandably reluctant to get in the car for a long time afterwards.

The insurance settlement this time purchased a 2003 Pontiac Vibe at auction. Nearly new when it came to me with only 23,000 miles, I marveled at its power windows and doors, upgraded sound system, and power sunroof. Even at 2 yrs old, this was the closest I had ever come to a new car. My family had only driven a series of hand-me-downs from generous aunts, uncles, and grandparents which were already on their last wheels, so to speak. My parents would drive them until they no longer functioned, at which time we would receive another "donation". I grew up in terror of the inevitable breakdowns, panicked strandings on the side of the highway in the dark of night, and the very real potential for car fires. The Vibe was therefore a luxury vehicle in my eyes. It was fast, fun to drive, comfortable, and got awesome gas mileage.

Sadly, having never been taught to care for something, given that we had never owned anything worth caring for, I took the Vibe for granted. She endured being driven hard, stopped suddenly, and forced to haul an unimaginable amount of stuff. My friend recently referred to it as the "rolling sack of crap." He was convinced that I was going to be decapitated by my set of metal weave poles should I ever in get into an accident (which was likely given my aggressive driving tendencies and history of being rear ended). He also thought that if I gained even one extra pound, I would no longer fit into it amidst the tunnels, jumps, extra clothes and shoes, dog crates, towels, grooming equipment, loose paperwork, and food at various stages of decay. He would marvel at the bi-annual occasion during which I shoveled it all out and reorganized it. This generally only happened when the smell become overpowering, or I had some new piece of equipment I desired to puzzle in there. Over the five years we were together, I washed her two, perhaps three times. The passenger seat was used maybe a dozen times, after being excavated from the mountain of assorted trash, and the back seats were probably only upright half a dozen times. It belonged on an episode of "Hoarders."

Before we reached 150,000 miles, I had burned through a few sets of tires, realizing for the first time in my life that tires would go bald and needed to be replaced as a "set" and not just individually as they went flat. On one occasion, just before replacing my balding tires, I slid into a young man's trailer hitch in the rain. I thought he was going to turn. He did not. With only cosmetic damage to my car, I drove away with a dent and no insurance was involved.

At some point, all four door handles cracked. Three of them broke off completely, leaving me no access to the passenger side of the vehicle. Luckily, the driver door was left with a small nub, which when used carefully, allowed me to enter without having to climb in through the hatchback. Which would have been impossible anyway given the amount of crap back there. I had to beg service people to be careful when leaving it for an oil change, as replacement handles would have cost $200 each.

Later, my brother backed his enormous Dodge Ram into my front left fender and left me unable to open the door. In sympathy, I did not report him to my insurance, and he skipped town a week later. We were able to bang it out so the door could be used, but it wasn't pretty.

Finally last year, during one of the hottest summers I can remember, the air conditioner stopped working. The replacement part was on national back-order, and might never have been located. I suffered two weeks in the sweltering heat, determined to avoid car payments until I found myself in a heat induced delirium at the Honda lot.

With a cold A/C, working door handles, and enough cargo room to accommodate an army of dogs and gear, I love my 2010 Honda Element. But if you happen to see an old, dented Vibe with no door handles, give it a wave. She was a good car.