The Famous Toyota Crayolla Reaches A Hysterical Milestone

I bought the Toyota Crayola new in May of 1987, and my daddy told me at the time, "Just because you have a car doesn't mean you have to drive the wheels off it." I took his advice to heart. When I got it, I lived less than 2 miles from where I was working and neither of the places I worked after that was further than 3 miles from my house. Six years after I bought it, I started working from home, where I have worked for the past 16 years now, mostly evening and night shift. I've only had it on the highway once -- a trip to Phoenix, AZ and back. I am not what one would call a gad-about.

Earlier this month, while driving myself to my twice weekly physical therapy sessions for my shoulder, it became apparent that all was not well, and that I was going to be getting a new muffler for Christmas whether I wanted one or not. When I accelerated, what I heard was not the robust raspberry of its mighty engine. It was more like all 27 of its ponies were full of the wrong kind of gas, and were energetically leaving it behind. A cursory inspection of its undercarriage revealed why. The muffler was shot. In fact, judging from the entry wounds, Father Time had emptied about half a clip into it. However, owing to budgetary constraints, it would be almost three weeks before funds could be allocated to replace it. I was still in rehab for my shoulder and twice a week, when I headed up the access ramp to get on the Loop to go to therapy, it was like leading the pack at a motocross race. I drove in fear of being reined in by the local constabulary and being issued a citation for rude and obnoxious noises with a motor vehicle and impersonating a herd of bumble bees.

So, it was not until on December 19, 2008, that I made my way to the local Midas Muffler establishment and informed the muffler guy that I needed a new muffler. When I was told patronizingly but courteously, "If you'll give us the keys, we'll put it on the lift and take a look.", I motioned him into a crouch and with equal courtesy pointed out the several large holes that corrosion had eaten into the muffler's outer casing. We fast-forwarded ahead several paragraphs in the script and went right into the "Midas Muffler with the Lifetime Warranty for only $129 parts and $50 labor" pitch, at which point I called his attention to the illogic of forking over that kind of dough to put a top-of-the-line muffler with a lifetime guarantee on a 21 year old car. Finally, we agreed that their "exhaust guy" would put it up on the lift, find out what size it took, rummage about in the bargin bin and see what he could come up with that would fit it.

I mentioned the date above because, while I was ensconcing myself in their cheerefully decorated waiting room, the muffler guy was out in the mechanic's bay noting down the Crayola's vital statistics on his little form, and upon his return, much ado was made of the fact that it only had 39,997.4 miles on it. The oil change guy even went so far as to do the math and announced to all and sundry that it worked out to only 1500 miles a year.

So, about 30 minutes later + one new muffler, and -$121.49, I'm doing what my mother refers to as "going on about your rat killing," which is to say beetling off to the next stop on my list of errands, and while traveling down 50th street toward the high school I attended entirely too long ago, the hysterical milestone occurred, and my odometer rolled over to 40,000 miles. I might add that I had last filled the car with gas on October 2, 2008, and there was still over half a tank left.