Remember: I'm the WHITE sheep in my family.

Makin' their way

The only way they know how

That's just a little bit more

Than the law will allow.

Okay, let me give you a little background information. I've had bad luck with cars. (not Jamie Jetta, though. She's a beauty) And I was making dick at ye ol' Alliteration Cinema, barely enough to pay the rent and keep the car gassed up. I had, in the period of five years, a Chevy Sprint (the KKK took my baby away), a Pontiac Phoenix (three-on-the-tree, baby) and a Mercury Lynx wagon. I also bought a Vista 4-wheel drive, in which I was going to see the USA on my way to LA, but the oil leaked out and fried the engine leaving her a very expensive shell of a car and leaving me to move here via aeroplane with two suitcases and a carry-on that was left in the back of a taxi never to be seen again. But I digress. This story is about the Lynx.

The Lynx, purchased for $800 from a person of the same last name, was a tough car. She smelled like pizza from the previous owner's job as a Pizza Hut delivery man. She was stick. I loved her. She drove back and forth to the Jersey Shore. She drove to Philly for shows. She drove the back roads, with all their dips and sharps turns, all without a fuss. She hit a deer and lived to tell about it. If I had thought for a second she would have made it 3,000 miles cross country, I'd have done it.

Now, the Lynx had a muffler issue. She sounded like the Hell's Angels came to town. My roommate used to tell me he could hear me coming home from a mile away. What can I say, I like to make an entrance. Unfortunately, in Pennsyltucky, what with the yearly inspection and all, muffler issues were unacceptable. In fact, the roommate drove her to his dad's to change the oil and got a ticket for the loudness. Who knew? So, she wouldn't pass inspection without a new muffler. No inspection, no registration. This became a recurring theme with me and The Lynx.

Remember how I bought it from someone with the same last name? The first time I got nailed for the past due inspection, the system still had it registered to their address but with the name Laura. I guess they somehow squished Laurie Ann. I smiled sweetly and told Mr. Officer that I was driving my aunt's car and I surely will tell her to get her car inspected ASAP if he let me go with a warning because my aunt, she has a bad temper and I can't come home with a ticket, no sirree. Shut up, it worked.

The next time I got nailed for the loud muffler AND past due inspection, the police officer was a guy I knew and had partied with in high school. I was very upset already because my lying cheating boyfriend had lied (and I caught it) and was most likely cheating and I was on my way to the skanky ho's house to rip her stringy hair out. I saw it was Rick and I started crying and told him all about the lying cheating bastard and the skanky, VD-ridden whore. Rick gave me a tissue, patted my hair (yeah, kids. It's a small town. Cops care.) and told me it would be best if I just went home and confronted LCB when I was calmer. He wouldn't give me a ticket if I promised to go straight home. Poor Rick. He didn't know that straight home would include a swing past McGurk's Tavern to see if the bastards crappy Dodge Daytona was parked outside.

Then, Lynx and I got put to the test. I was driving out old Route 209 (as opposed to the new route) which on the maps these days is called Hamilton Road. Here's a map if you want to follow along. I was along that long patch of nothing right before Neola Road, when a State Trooper passed me heading in the other direction. Just as I rounded a curve, I saw him pull a U-Turn and I knew the game was on. I took the first right I could find. Then a left. Then a right. Oh, who am I kidding, I have no idea which way I was turning, I just kept turning every time I saw a street. And always, way back in the rear view mirror, the Trooper was on my tail. SHIT!! Every time I turned I prayed it wasn't a dead end. Those roads near Saylors Lake are filled with dead ends. I turned right one last time and came out on Route 115 (aka Wilkes Barre Turnpike)--Damn! A main street with traffic. I'm screwed now!

But wait...here's where the map comes in handy...I came out just down the road from the street that led to my home, Kunkletown Road. I darted out into traffic (without a turn signal, because I'm a rebel, Dottie), floored it and made the right onto K-town Rd without so much as a "by your leave." Super Trooper? He had to wait for a big rig to pass. He didn't stop though. As I was turning onto Weir Lake Road (seriously, if you ever questioned the validity of my small town claims, these names must convince you), I saw him coming over the hill. With speeds of at least 60 (on these roads?) I whipped quickly onto Turkey Hill, then to Beagle Run, to Meixell Valley Road (where I lived) and instead of pulling into our driveway, pulled into the landlord's, hid behind the old barn and watched as the Trooper sailed past. Then I went home.

Alas, a week or so later, after having just been fired from one of my jobs, I got pulled over coming off the Wind Gap exit on Route 33 and this Trooper (maybe the same one with a grudge) pulled a box cutter out of his pocket and scraped the old inspection sticker off the window, then pulled out a screwdriver and removed my license plate. I had to call my roommate and have my car towed. It was a bad, bad day.

I managed to rather shadily acquire a new registration, plates and inspection (and fix the muffler), only to have the brakes and some rust fail me on the next inspection. When I left PA... well, let's just say it cost me a lot of money and an absentee court plea to get a license in California.