Recession Taxi

So if you’ve been reading this blog for a bit, you’re well aware that the USS Windstar 875 has chronic health problems. Since my initial misadventures at the Fleet Master’s Special Garage, I’d wondered when the next ailment would rear its ugly head. Today, I got my answer.

Several days ago, the Fleet Master rang me.

Hello John. You must get emissions test.

He gave me the address of a state testing center and told me to get ‘er done. So today, I headed over there around lunchtime.

The emissions facility is up on a small hill. It’s in a neighborhood full of one-story buildings housing auto mechanics, body shops and various small-scale manufacturers.

I drove up and got in line. About ten minutes later, a geeky science guy in a blue state-issued jumpsuit was waving me forward into the testing garage. I pulled to a stop.

Now, I want to pause here and say that I’ve always known that I was basically driving a bucket of bolts on wheels. The Windstar ain’t no VW Routan. Hell, it ain’t even a Kia Sedona.

Still, I was shocked when science guy leaned in the driver side window and read the Windstar’s mileage out loud:

159,094! Holy Shit! (That would be me, not science guy.)

Now, 159,054 is one thing when the vehicle is getting top-notch care. But the Windstar has been getting serviced at the Fleet Master’s Special Garage, where the automotive equivalents of Band-Aids and glue are the remedies of choice.

Science guy instructed me to get out of the front seat and go sit in a small waiting area. Two minutes later, he leaned his head in and told me to get back in the front seat and start the engine.

About ten seconds went by.

Your vehicle has failed the test.

Science guy then circled two numbered codes on the emissions report. Take care of these and come back before the end of December.

The Windstar, it turns out, has been belching toxic particulate matter from its exhaust pipe, slowly killing me, my passengers and the rest of humanity.

What a shock.