Mad Max Strikes Again
Dec. 20th, 2010 09:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_goren_showAnd be damned if the little bastard doesn't hate Mondays.
A short reminder to those who have just begun following along - Max is the name applied to my 1997 Nissan Maxima which it is earning on so many more levels than just the lazy one (Maxima = Max). Max was also (and still is) one of my roleplaying characters, who among his charms, manages to be a troublemaker extraordinaire almost without trying.
The car has officially earned this name now. As if shooting red hot chunks of steel at me and stealing my keys weren't enough (Story here), it is a truth of the world that if Max is going to have an issue, he will pull it on a Monday morning at 6:30 am as I'm trying to get to work.
So, the first time Max proved he hates Mondays, I get dressed for work in my suit and head off to the garage to get the little bugger going. It's cold outside and I'm shivering as I unlock the door of the bay that I rent for the Max's pleasure. I get in the car, go to turn the key... the key won't turn. No way, no how is that key turning. It's like someone poured concrete in the ignition. I blink, I curse, I call work and explain I'm going to be late and 45 minutes and a bus and a train later, a half hour after I was supposed to start, I get to work. I research online, discover it may be the steering wheel lock and that I have to break the lock by yanking the steering wheel back and forth. I take the bus home (joy!) and go try this reef on the steering wheel thing. It works and Max's Monday morning strike is over.
Or so think I.
This morning, Mr Max decides he needs an early Christmas vacation. More to the point, Mr. Max decides he wants it today and there will be no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Cue my Monday morning nightmare in glorious surround sound, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
I get up, get dressed for work, sigh at the cold temperature, shrug into my suit, grab a scarf and head off to liberate Max from his cozy little concrete bunker. It's -16 C outside, but I have not a single worry that the car will start. After all it wasn't that cold overnight and I put him away warm and clean so he will have heated up his stall quite nicely all on his own sort of the same way horses will warm up their area of a barn just by being there. I roll up the garage door, smile to see the mostly road salt free body of my buddy and amble along to the driver's side. I open the door...
And all hell breaks loose!
The lights flash, the horn honks, it's 6:30 am, the concrete walls are making the noise echo like a rock concert in the alley way. I'm horrified like a deer in the headlights. I've never even heard the car horn honk but for once when I accidentally hit it with my elbow getting out of the car. Hell, I don't even officially HAVE a car alarm. Maxima's of the 1997 variety have factory installed anti-theft systems that can only be set off by using the panic button on the remote fob. Theoretically that is, since I didn't even touch the remote this morning. Let me tell you, panic mode just about describes it because I panicked. I've never had a car that did this or even had the capability to do this (I'm so screwed if I ever get a really new car, I'll be the equivalent of the Luddite faced with a computer) so I don't know what to do.
In the end, two minutes of honking and the car silences itself and I take a second to calm my heart after discovering that the ignition now will NOT work. I have a dead Max - or more accurately, a Max playing dead. I decide as I take the key out of the ignition that there is nothing for it, I will have to call a cab and work to let them know I may be a few minutes late but I am on my way. I go to get out of the car only to set off the anti-theft alarm again. This time, I roll my eyes and close the garage door on the tantruming vehicle while I make my phone calls. Max silences himself as the taxi dispatcher tells me the cab will be right along and I lock the little bugger in his warm little bunker and go wait for the cab.
Luckily, the original owner had kept all the original documentation with the car so I now know how to reset the anti-theft system. I will take the bus home (joy) and go give Mr. Max a scolding about his dislike of Mondays. If the bugger wants to keep his warm little bunker, he's got to be getting me to work on time with no more tantrums.
I love this car but I never expected to have to treat it like a tantruming toddler. Mind you, if this is all the trouble it gives me, I'm laughing.
A short reminder to those who have just begun following along - Max is the name applied to my 1997 Nissan Maxima which it is earning on so many more levels than just the lazy one (Maxima = Max). Max was also (and still is) one of my roleplaying characters, who among his charms, manages to be a troublemaker extraordinaire almost without trying.
The car has officially earned this name now. As if shooting red hot chunks of steel at me and stealing my keys weren't enough (Story here), it is a truth of the world that if Max is going to have an issue, he will pull it on a Monday morning at 6:30 am as I'm trying to get to work.
So, the first time Max proved he hates Mondays, I get dressed for work in my suit and head off to the garage to get the little bugger going. It's cold outside and I'm shivering as I unlock the door of the bay that I rent for the Max's pleasure. I get in the car, go to turn the key... the key won't turn. No way, no how is that key turning. It's like someone poured concrete in the ignition. I blink, I curse, I call work and explain I'm going to be late and 45 minutes and a bus and a train later, a half hour after I was supposed to start, I get to work. I research online, discover it may be the steering wheel lock and that I have to break the lock by yanking the steering wheel back and forth. I take the bus home (joy!) and go try this reef on the steering wheel thing. It works and Max's Monday morning strike is over.
Or so think I.
This morning, Mr Max decides he needs an early Christmas vacation. More to the point, Mr. Max decides he wants it today and there will be no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Cue my Monday morning nightmare in glorious surround sound, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
I get up, get dressed for work, sigh at the cold temperature, shrug into my suit, grab a scarf and head off to liberate Max from his cozy little concrete bunker. It's -16 C outside, but I have not a single worry that the car will start. After all it wasn't that cold overnight and I put him away warm and clean so he will have heated up his stall quite nicely all on his own sort of the same way horses will warm up their area of a barn just by being there. I roll up the garage door, smile to see the mostly road salt free body of my buddy and amble along to the driver's side. I open the door...
And all hell breaks loose!
The lights flash, the horn honks, it's 6:30 am, the concrete walls are making the noise echo like a rock concert in the alley way. I'm horrified like a deer in the headlights. I've never even heard the car horn honk but for once when I accidentally hit it with my elbow getting out of the car. Hell, I don't even officially HAVE a car alarm. Maxima's of the 1997 variety have factory installed anti-theft systems that can only be set off by using the panic button on the remote fob. Theoretically that is, since I didn't even touch the remote this morning. Let me tell you, panic mode just about describes it because I panicked. I've never had a car that did this or even had the capability to do this (I'm so screwed if I ever get a really new car, I'll be the equivalent of the Luddite faced with a computer) so I don't know what to do.
In the end, two minutes of honking and the car silences itself and I take a second to calm my heart after discovering that the ignition now will NOT work. I have a dead Max - or more accurately, a Max playing dead. I decide as I take the key out of the ignition that there is nothing for it, I will have to call a cab and work to let them know I may be a few minutes late but I am on my way. I go to get out of the car only to set off the anti-theft alarm again. This time, I roll my eyes and close the garage door on the tantruming vehicle while I make my phone calls. Max silences himself as the taxi dispatcher tells me the cab will be right along and I lock the little bugger in his warm little bunker and go wait for the cab.
Luckily, the original owner had kept all the original documentation with the car so I now know how to reset the anti-theft system. I will take the bus home (joy) and go give Mr. Max a scolding about his dislike of Mondays. If the bugger wants to keep his warm little bunker, he's got to be getting me to work on time with no more tantrums.
I love this car but I never expected to have to treat it like a tantruming toddler. Mind you, if this is all the trouble it gives me, I'm laughing.
