By Max Lorber

You can catch me pulling up to the school parking lot in a rusty silver ‘98 Jeep Grand Cherokee with a dark green driver-side door. One look and you will know that yes, this is a hooptie; keep your distance, proceed with caution. The brakes may give out, the bumper may fall off, a cloud of black smoke may blast out of the muffler. The whole thing just might go up in a ball of flames.

I mentioned the door. Allow me to elaborate. The original door had begun to fall off about a year ago — I had to rig it up with a few bungee cords and a wad of duct tape to keep the road away from me. In the junkyard the only replacement I could find was this filthy dark green door. It had been a month and half of the bungee cords; I said fine, let’s make do with a bit of patchwork. Off-color silver and muddy green kind of go together, right?

And my car gets a bit moody if I go over fifty. The whole frame starts to shake, I can feel this gnawing vibration in the wheel and on my seat, the rearview mirror will shudder, the tape player will clap up and down like it’s about to fall out. After the engine fires up you can hear a definitive gurgle, a steady percolating. It sounds as if a coffee maker is under my hood brewing up a dark Colombian roast. And it’s not like the gurgling stops after I drive for a bit — no, no, not at all; it persists, even worsens at times.

The left windshield wiper barely does anything but dance, the water just runs down the glass like it’s mocking me. When I switch from reverse to drive too quickly, the engine shakes violently and stalls out. Sometimes it refuses to start back up for another ten minutes or so. It’s sensitive, that’s all — I gotta remember to switch gears slowly. I’ll even go from reverse to park, just to give it a break, then put in gear and drive off.

Illustration by Paul Moosmann

I try to be good to it. Sometimes we fight. My Jeep can be difficult, especially in the morning when it’s cold. It’ll cough and wheeze, and when we go from 2nd to 3rd gear it’ll make a big production out of it. So theatrical. When we sit still, the RPMs drop down and the whole thing lurches forward. It’s just not a morning car, that’s all.

It’s not really a date car, either. “Is this car safe?” I get that question a lot. Sure, honey, it’s safe. We will be okay. “What’s that noise?” Nothing, don’t worry. Then I turn up the radio and change the subject — it works most of the time. “Why is it shaking like that?” Oh, don’t worry, it’s just dancing.

Yes, I know what you must be thinking: that redundant question asked by everyone I know, “Why don’t you take it in, get it looked at, fix it up?” People throw those words around like loose change, as if car repairs don’t cost any money. My vehicle’s current state just doesn’t bother me. I have gotten used to witnessing its slow death. Is it safe? Whatever. I’ll take that as it comes. Safety is a relative word. My front tires are balder than the top of Larry David’s head. Breaks are questionable. I once went to get an oil change, and the mechanic took one look under the car and just laughed. ‘Look, I’ve had a long day. There ain’t no way I’m working on this thing. It’s a safety issue, you know?’

It’s a time honored hooptie refrain: pretend the problems aren’t there, and perhaps they will solve themselves.

Since the dawn of the age of the automobile people have been driving hoopties, slugging them along the roads until the bitter end. I am carrying on that tradition.Anybody else driving a hooptie? Inspection sticker been up for a year and a half? Strange noises coming up from under your hood? I know I’m not the only one. Don’t be embarrassed; take pride in your rust-bucket. One day we will build our credit and lease a Nissan, or start making car payments on a brand-new Subaru. We’ll land that dream job, maybe even whip a used Benz. Who knows? But for now, I’m hooptie all the way. And proud of it.