Read the fucking report.

So I finally got a new car. It was the 96 Audi A4 I posted about earlier. The Probe has been on its way out (since I bought it), so it was about time I bought a real car (more specifically something un-American). It’s good to have a car with pickup when I press the gas, air conditioning, a smooth ride, and no mold smell. The story about me purchasing the car and getting it on the road is nothing less than soap opera material.

Well it took a good week or so to get my loan squared away with the bank and the insurance company. Now the guy who I bought the car from was leaving for Turkey (yeah, I’ll explain) this coming Thursday, so we had to get things done quickly. I think if the bank took any longer the guy would have just said fuck it. But also, if he did that, that would have meant he would have less than two days to sell the car. So I guess he would have no other alternative but to kill me.

So the guy was leaving for Turkey. Yeah, it sounds ultra shady, but the car was in good working order and if he is an honest guy, he just wanted to get rid of it before he leaves (he’s also selling all his furniture and other possessions). He said he worked in advertising for about seven years and that was enough for him, he just wants to head back. People were filling my mind with ideas like, ‘This guy’s gonna load the car full of drugs or explosives and flee the country.’ But I really don’t believe any of that for many reasons. Yes, I may be a trusting person, but I have more information on this guy than I do on most of my family or friends.

So finally Tuesday (yesterday) rolls around and the check is ready at 9:30 AM. After keeping this guy waiting for like five or more days, I grab the check and head on down to Cambridge. We fill out all the paperwork that needed to be done, I hand him the check and I’m on my way with a nice Audi A4.

I head homewards and show the car off to friends and family. Then it’s off to the registry (around 1 PM) to cancel my old plates, get new ones for the Audi, and renew my license. License was no big deal. I go to get new plates for the Audi, and of course, it’s time for that big thorn to jab itself into my plans…the guy who sold me the car accidentally checked off a box that wasn’t supposed to be checked off. So they couldn’t just let me initial it or cross it off? No. So what did they make me do? Go all the way back to Cambridge (actually Newbury Street because the guy was shipping some stuff) to have him fill out an affidavit saying he made a mistake.

So we head to Newbury Street and battle through light traffic, find the guy so he can fill out the form (this furthered my trust, because if he was to be a guy looking to screw me over, he probably wouldn’t have even answered the phone, much less met me in Boston and signed yet another form). And wait, could this be all too easy? No, of course not. We need a Notary to sign the paper to make sure it’s legal. Such horseshit. Luckily Sarah’s mom is one and we got all that business squared away.

Now there was really no need to rush, I could have just waited until the next day, but I was pissed off and just wanted to get it all done in one day. Would it be an easy drive back to Quincy? Of course not. Could there be any more traffic? We get out of Boston around 4 PM and sit in traffic for about twenty minutes (thank Christ for the HOV lane). Then we head back to Weymouth really quick.

The clock is ticking to 5 PM which is the time the registry closes. Yes, it took three hours to get a goddamn affidavit filled out for one god damn checked-off box. Oh wait, what’s this? Does the bridge ALWAYS go up at 4:45 PM? Could anything else get in my way of getting this damn car on the road? Have to go around the back ways through the Landing to get to Quincy and with two minutes to spare, I get plates for the Audi.

It’s funny how when something important or fun goes my way, something else has to pop up and screw up everything. I swear I’m on a television show where they can’t make my life boring, they must put conflict in my daily routine.

I couldn’t have went on this adventure alone and I’m glad Sarah was there to help me out. Same with her mother, faxing, signing and helping with everything she could. I’m very appreciative.

And so comes the end of the Probe. Poor, poor Probe. Well, if anyone’s interested in a 1993 Ford Probe feel free to tell me. I’m sure I won’t get a response, but I figured I’d ask/offer. It still runs, but it just needs some simple maintenance.

RIP Probe (1993-2005)