Yesterday, right as I rolled into Zombieland, the odometer on the lemon struck 100,000. This is now the third car I’ve now pushed over the 100,000 mile plateau. Granted only one of them was genuinely my own 100,000 (and 200,000) miles, but for what it’s worth, my current car, the lemon, is now officially considered worthless, as many cars are seen as damaged goods once they start utilizing the sixth digit.
And in my case, as evidenced by the ominously glowing check engine light that I’m flicking off, the lemon actually is damaged goods at this point. Later on today, I’m taking my car into, of all places, the stealership, because I’m tired of local, independent mechanics not knowing what to do with my car, and I’m blindly putting faith in the notion that Mazda mechanics that work at a Mazda dealership’s service shops, might actually know what to do with my Mazda. To add to the irony of the whole situation, I went and got the diagnostic code pulled from an AutoZone, which came out to be P0421 – in Mazda-speak it means catalytic converter problem, or something breathing related, as it pertains to the engine. To which the added irony is that such symptoms was what my old car’s check engine light was coming up as.
Either way, congraturation to me, for driving around yet another car with a billion miles on it again. As great as it would be for this one to also reach another 100,000 miles, I sure as shit wouldn’t bank on it.
