When I think of a car, I think of a shiny, new, off-the-line vehicle. When driving through the city at night the lights should reflect off the chrome, like in a car commercial. The interior should be clean, bright, and leather. The steering wheel ought to be graced with polished wood and more leather, while the backseat should grant a generous amount of leg room. Sadly, this is not my car.

My car is a ‘95 Chrysler Concorde with all the bells and whistles from the early ‘90s donned with a cassette player, grungy fake wood paneling, and pleather fabric on the inside of the doors for added texture. The car is a little out-dated if I should say so.

When looking at the car from the outside, someone may wonder how I drive that. From a bird’s eye view, the roof looks like a dalmatian. Every so often there is a new spot of faded paint, followed by the chipping and wear-away of the outer seal. Finally, ending at the trunk, half-way across the back is a line of rust which has now, over many years, rusted through making a nice, smashing hole in the trunk.

But wait it gets even better–held by duct tape, the driver mirror clings to the side of the car, as it has done for many years. Also, if I want to get radio reception, I have to yank on the antenna, so I can enjoy the old radio. It’s a wonder that I still haven’t driven this car off a cliff.

But looks aren’t the only issue, the locks also present their fair share of troubles. In order to open the doors, I have to open the passenger door first with the key, unlock the other doors and manually open the driver door. World record timing for this process has taken many years of practice.

After I start the car, I am greeted by Casper, the noise made by the broken fan. On other days I will be greeted by a louder fan noise, I call him Papa C, or a soft and quiet fan noise I call Lil’ Casper.

My all-time favorite part of the car is the nice, one-of-a-kind, long-threaded, cloth seats. In the winter, the seats hold in the cold, so it is like sitting on a block of ice, and in the summer, the cloth fibers rub against each other to create this creaky, sticky sound…how lovely!

I guess that I will have my car for many more years, but after dealing with it for sixteen years (driving and as a passenger), what’s one more year of the thrill of riding in a car that has so many mysteries; who knows what will happens next?