It was Saturday, my day for another trip to the flea market in Metz, France. At the time, I was living in Kaiserslautern, Germany, about 30 minutes from the French border. Metz was an hour and a half hour away. I usually drove to Metz by myself almost every weekend to shop. Sparingly, I allowed a few select friends to come with me.
Ria, a coworker, had arrived at my organization about six months ago. We hit it off and became friends right away. She had a bubbly personality, a cheerful disposition, and a sassy attitude, just like me. I enjoyed going to lunch with her and hanging out with her sometimes.
One day during lunch, I told Ria that I was planning a trip to the big flea market in Metz, France for the upcoming Saturday. I invited her to come. She was thrilled and jumped at the chance to tag along. This trip would be her first time going to the flea market in Metz, France. Though I prefer to travel alone, I didn't think I would have any problems with Ria traveling with me.
That Saturday morning, I met her in the parking lot of the Post Exchange. Usually, I would drive, but I hadn't filled up yet for the trip.
After parking, I got out of my car and saw Ria looking as excited as a kid at a circus. She was standing near the used Mercedes-Benz car she had bought from a shady coworker we both knew. This coworker was due to leave for the States in two days. Thank Goodness and good riddance that he would be gone for good because I didn't like him from the jump.
I walked over to take a closer look at Ria's car. She was smiling from ear to ear, looking proud to show me her "new toy" as if it were showroom new. I found out later that she had actually bought a nasty lemon.
Ria's car was an older model. I didn't know what year it was. All I knew was that it looked ancient, like a four-wheeled Egyptian chariot without horses! But the Benz "appeared" to be in good shape. It had a nice body, brand-new tires, and not a single scratch on it. Yet, in my mind, I knew that looks can be deceiving and something had to be wrong with it. I had a bad feeling about her old hoopty. Yet I didn't say anything to her about it. I didn't want to spoil her upbeat mood with any misgivings I had about her car.
Ria told me that she wouldn't feel comfortable driving her "new" car that distance on the autobahn, so she asked me to drive. I had no problem with that, so I agreed.
Anxious to get on the road, Ria hurried to get in on the passenger side. I went to the driver's side and opened the door, which creaked like a rusted gate in a metal fence surrounding a haunted house. "Just how old is this damn car?" I asked myself. One thing struck me as odd: she still hadn't given me her car keys.
As I stood at the open door of her Benz, a strong, musty odor hit me in the face and prevented me from getting into the car right away. I wondered where and how long this lemon had been sitting before she bought it.
I was ready to hit the road, so I cautiously slid onto the thickly padded seat behind the steering wheel, which was much larger than the one in my vehicle. Looking at it, I felt like a scrawny, six-year-old kid behind the steering wheel of a big Greyhound bus.
I scanned the antiquated-looking dashboard. Unfortunately, the car had no AC, so my nose and I would have to suffer as the odor would travel with us. I hoped I wouldn't need an oxygen mask to survive the trip to France. But to get fresh air, I thought I could do what dogs do in cars and let my head hang out the window while driving. I knew that would look stupid on my part, so I decided to keep my window open at least a crack.
As I sat in the driver's seat, I looked closer at the dashboard to familiarize myself with the car's controls. I didn't touch anything because I had no idea of the functions of any of the odd-looking nobs, strange buttons, and unusual switches. So, I thought it would be best for Ria to explain to me what they were for. It annoyed me that I couldn't see the street beyond the end of the long, wide hood. So, I got out and ran back to my car to get a seat pillow for a boost so that I could see the road better. Then, I adjusted the seat to fit me comfortably.
But I still didn't have the keys to her car. Ria then rattled off some of the peculiar "features" of her old Benz. I thought to myself, "Now what?"
She started with, "The key is permanently stuck in the ignition. Don't pull it out 'cause it'll mess up something in the electrical system. (Uh, oh!) This revelation about her car unnerved me because I would be the one driving this thing. But now I understood why Ria hadn't given me the car keys yet. She couldn't.
Ria added more instructions, "The parking brake is on the left side of the floor. You gotta pull really hard on the black handle on the left side under the dashboard to engage the brake and disengage it."
I felt like a dummy waiting to take off in a crash test vehicle. Silently, I wondered if this car was safe enough to even drive out of the parking lot. (Groan!)
The information about the car's weird quirks made me nervous. All I could manage to say to Ria after all that information she gave me was a weak "Okaay." On second thought, taking my car made better sense, but I decided that filling my car up with gas would cut into our shopping time. Later, I would regret this decision.
Being the good friend that I am, I was careful not to reveal to Ria my distaste for her car. Despite the strange characteristics of Ria's car, I hoped that this trip would at least validate its roadworthiness.
Before leaving, I went through a checklist of necessities for our trip. Passports, ID cards, and lots of Euros were all safely with us. To keep hunger at bay, I packed some miniature Snickers and a small plastic zip-lock bag full of fresh fruit. I also had a few bottles of water in case we got thirsty.
Finally, we took off. The 'old Benz girl' sailed smoothly over a few bumps in the road. Just outside the city limits of Kaiserslautern, Germany, I crested a hill. I adored the panoramic view of the lush countryside. The morning's light drizzle produced a beautiful misty rainbow, which hovered over a distant field. Excited as a kid in a candy store, I shouted, "Quick, Ria, get the camera, take a picture! The rainbow's a good sign; for what, I don't know, but it's a good sign."
The camera, one of those small disposable ones, had taken cover somewhere underneath her seat. I swung the big Benz sharply through an upcoming traffic circle and spilled the car out at the third exit in my haste to park so Ria could get a picture of the rainbow. This crazy maneuver caused the camera to roll farther out of Ria's reach. She was scrambling to find the camera when she bumped her head on the dashboard. There was no harm done, but she finally found it. Silently, I hoped that all these antics weren't signs of disasters to come.
My cell phone rang just as Ria was about to take her first shot of the beautiful rainbow. With one hand on the steering wheel, I grabbed my earbuds with the other and tried to insert one into one of my ears. But the earbuds had fallen into that black hole between the front seat and the console. Somehow, I kept one hand on the steering wheel while darting my eyes back and forth from the road to my cell phone while trying to punch those tiny buttons to connect with my caller. Yes, I knew. Safety had already been thrown out the window on this trip. But who could fault me for throwing caution to the wind when I was already sitting behind the wheel of a potential time bomb?
The call was from Tamikio, another good friend. I told her where Ria and I were going. She regretted that she couldn't make the trip with us. I also told her we had just spotted a rainbow, and she expressed excitement as well. I guess my friends and I are kindred spirits who still marvel at Mother Nature's little wonders that others might ignore.
Realizing that it was dangerous to talk on a cell phone while trying to drive, not to mention illegal, I looked for a rest area to pull over and continue talking to Tamikio.
If I could find a place to park, Ria could try to reset the camera to get a good shot of the rainbow. Since she was having difficulty advancing the film, Ria handed me the camera. It was not a bright idea on her part since I was still driving.
Anyway, I took the camera to advance the film and returned it to Ria. In doing so, Ria accidentally pressed the "standby" button, which caused a sun-blinding flash to fill the car. Surprisingly, I kept the car steady as we laughed our asses off at our clumsiness. But hey! At least we knew that the camera worked. We had no picture of the rainbow yet, but I think Ria got a good shot of the dashboard and floor of her car.
After wrapping it up with Tamikio, I finally parked to let Ria take a photo of the rainbow. She got out of the car but returned seconds later, frustrated and disappointed, "It's gone! The rainbow is gone. Poof, just like that!" I was disappointed, too. But I took that moment to dwell on some deep sage wisdom, "Oh well, Ria. That means that we're going to have a great time!" I lied through my teeth to hide my growing uneasiness and fear of her "bucket of bolts."
So, I took off on a road that led to the autobahn, which surprisingly had little traffic at that time of the morning. Gray clouds covering the sky began to release an annoying drizzle that danced across the windshield. The weather put somewhat of a damper on the morning. But to me, the rainbow, which we never got a picture of, signaled something otherwise. We decided not to succumb to the gloomy weather.
When I drive, I like to listen to good music. Salsa is my preference. Since the car didn't even have the luxury of a CD player, I was content to listen to any station that the old-fashioned radio could pull in. Ria reached for a silver knob on the dashboard and turned it a little bit too far clockwise. We both jumped in our seats as an ear-piercing, hissing static tore through the car like a shock wave and almost made me pee in my seat. I was so relieved when Ria quickly turned that thing off.
So, with no music, I resorted to humming a tune to myself to match the pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the windshield. That was boring at best, but it had to do for me!
The rain started coming down heavier, so Ria switched on the windshield wiper because God knows I couldn't have found it. Seeing a long blade rise from its hiding place, groaning as it moved across the windshield to mop up the raindrops with big swipes, surprised and tickled me. I had a hard time concentrating on driving while I sat amazed at the area the wiper blade covered at one time with one swipe. The raindrops didn't have a chance to settle on the windshield because the wiper blade swept them away as soon as they fell.
Although the Benz handled well on the autobahn, the ride itself was a bit rougher than my car, making me think that the car's good-looking tires were deceptive.
Maybe I was confident or perhaps a bit cocky, but I shifted the car into fourth gear. I gradually increased the speed to 180 kilometers and moved into the left lane where the speed demons drive.
Suddenly, I found myself behind a late-model BMW. As I approached it, the driver moved to the right lane to let me pass. After passing the BMW, the driver got right behind me. A few seconds later, the BMW driver flashed his high beams at me, an illegal move that ticked me off. I hadn't done anything wrong on the road, so I didn't understand this discourtesy. Then, the BMW driver moved to the passing lane on my left and sped off in a flash. "What a moron!" I thought.
By then, we were feeling a bit hungry. I was glad when I saw the big yellow "M" up ahead. I got off at the next exit so we could go to McDonald's for breakfast. After we finished eating, we returned to the car in the parking lot. Suddenly, I heard Ria gasp, "Oh my God, look!" I looked at Ria and shouted, "What?...what?" Ria screamed, "Look at the car! One of my headlights is missing!"
I looked at the car and covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. Sure enough, one headlight was missing, and it looked like the 'old Betsy' had a big black eye. I turned to Ria and asked the dumbest question on the planet, "Did I hit something?" She looked at me as if I had just lost my mind. She ignored my stupid question, and rightfully so. If I had hit anything, both of us would have known it, and the car would have known it, too.
We ran to the vehicle to examine the gaping hole where the headlight had been. All that was left were a few tiny wires dangling in the slight breeze. "Hmmm...maybe that's why the idiot flashed his lights at me. He wanted to let me know that I had lost the damn headlight somewhere back on the autobahn."
But there was nothing we could do about the missing headlight. So, Ria and I shrugged it off and took it in stride. We jumped back in the car with much less enthusiasm than we started with. Still leery of the car's performance, I reviewed the checklist of this hooptie's "features" again. The key was still stuck in the ignition. CHECK! The parking brake was still on the floor. CHECK! Now, one headlight is missing! CHECK! Hmmmm. Suddenly, this Benz made me recall the infamous Russian space station Mir, which suffered from a series of near disasters: power failures, trash buildup, hygiene issues, a fire, and an in-orbit collision. The Mir barely returned to earth on a broken wing and hundreds of prayers. I wondered what gods of the road we had to pray to in order to get to France and return to Germany in one piece.
I knew we were too far from our destination to call a taxi. I wouldn't know how to catch a bus from where we were. So, I carefully slid behind the wheel again and suspiciously eyed the dashboard, thinking that if I touched anything else on it, something would disintegrate, explode, or electrocute me.
Ria fastened her seatbelt. Slowly, I put mine on, all the while feeling again like a reluctant crash test dummy forced to test drive a highly questionable vehicle.
Before starting out again, I went through another 'pre-flight' check again. The windshield wiper was still attached: Check. The radio was still out of commission: Check. One headlight was still missing in action. Check. Since it was still daylight, thank Goodness we wouldn't need headlights at all.
So we took off again, laughing nervously to keep from crying. Silently, I prayed that we would make it to France in one piece. Actually, I felt bad inside for my friend Ria and angry at the jerk who sold her this first-classed clunker. But I wouldn't let my anger dampen her enthusiasm for doing the Metz Flea Market drill with me for the first time.
Finally, we arrived in Metz and took a secondary road on the outskirts of the city to the location of the flea market. After arriving at the sprawling area, I saw a huge warehouse where the flea market was being held. The parking lot was packed, but I managed to find a spot near the warehouse entrance. Though it was still raining, we remained upbeat.
Ria and I were so anxious to roam through the cavernous halls that displayed an enormous eclectic mix of trash and treasures.
But before I got out of the car, something peculiar at the end of the hood caught my eye. The Benz hood ornament was bent at an odd angle. I thought, "Maybe I killed it by pushing the car to 180 Kilometers."
I got out of the car and tried straightening the ornament to its upright position, but it came off in my hand. Yikes! So, I forced it back into its slot. It wobbled a bit but, fortunately, stayed steady in its place. Not wanting to risk losing anything else on the way home, I vowed to drive back to Germany at the same leisurely speed that chauffeur Morgan Freeman drove Miss Daisy.
After browsing and bargaining for hours, we returned to the car, arms full of unique treasures and some trash disguised as such. At the last minute, I even considered making a quick trade of Ria's Benz for a sturdy little red wagon that I saw for sale. Fortunately for Ria, the lemon Benz wasn't mine.
The trip back to Germany went smoothly. I was relieved that the old Benz didn't break down or lose any more vital parts on the way back.
Finally arriving in our town, I drove to the lot at the Post Exchange and parked the old Benz next to my vehicle. I sensed that my car was as shocked as I was that we had returned safely. I ran over to my car and hugged its hood, ignoring Ria's strange look. But I promised never to leave my roadworthy "baby" for another lemon again.
The moral of this true story: Everything that looks good isn't always good for you. The exceptions? Good wine and delicious chocolate.