I woke up feeling sick today. I knew it was specifically the sick feeling because my mouth was creating an excess amount of drool. That only happens when I’m sick and it hurts to swallow.
So I lay in bed for a while, until I finally get the courage to stand and start the day. Getting up is the worst part. I know the rest of the day will be a drug induced daze, so it won’t be that bad, but the hardest part is getting up and having some breakfast.
I got up. I had some juice. I was moving around. I had lunch. Then Pops wanted to go find an air compressor for the Camaro. Hopefully, replacing this part will stop the horrible noises. So we go outside and remove the compressor from the engine but we don’t disconnect it. Removing it wasn’t too difficult. We take some pictures of it and head off to the junk yard.
We go to the closest one because, well, it’s the closest. They had a few Camaros. None were the same year, 1996. There were a few 1995s, a 2000, and 2002. None of those models had the same compressor. The 2000 model had a similar compressor but with different . . . hose connections.
We come home. I have second lunch. The pills and exercise were starting to make me dizzy. I take more pills, and we go to another junk yard. This yard had a ’95, a ’97, a ’99, and a ’01. None of the compressors were an exact match. Again we found a few compressors with the different hose connections. There is a third junk yard that is further away. It was getting kinda late so we decide to go there next weekend. Either way, I checked their car inventory online and they don’t list a ’96 Camaro.
Walking around in the second junk yard, I took note of the lack of ’96 Camaros. A few questions popped into my head. Was 1996 a poor year for Camaro sales in North Texas? Was it the economy’s fault? Maybe all the ’96 Camaro’s broke down a long time ago? Worse, what if our ’96 Camaro is one of the first Camaro’s to break down from that year? Does that mean we were the worst Camaro owners for that year?
Clearly, I don’t know the answer to those questions.
As I pondered, I realized that one of my main never-ending goals in life, in my entire life, is keeping the Camaro out of this car graveyard. I’ll go to my grave before the Camaro occupies that space.
We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the moment of waking from a troubled dream; it may be so the moment after death. -Nathaniel Hawthorne, writer (1804-1864)