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Show Ten O'clock Whistle by David Fleisher ' This week, I am going to complain about something that has been bothering me for quite some time. Not politics. Not the condition of the roads in Park City. Not the lack of a Chinese Restaurant in town. Not the lack of snow. Not the poor record of the Atlanta Falcons. Not even the Park High Miners' loss to Dugway last week. I am going to officially complain about my car. It has not been performing up to par lately; in fact, I think the stupid thing is about to go under. I don't want to bore you with details, but here is briefly what my car does every day. It belches in the morning. Yes, that's right, belches. I don't know any other "word to describe it. And after it is through performing this rather obnoxious act, the choke begins to work. The choke works very good-too good. The engine sounds like it is going to lift off the ground and fly away into space. Yes, of course, I tap the accelerator, and then the engine calms down. In fact, the engine calms down to the point where I think it will go to sleep. But finally, after the car belches and the engine is running properly, I have the unenviable task of trying to drive the thing somewhere. I, frankly, don't think the car likes anybody to tell it what to do. It seems to travel on its own inertia. Most of the time, it enjoys stuttering around streets. When traveling up Main Street, for example, the car makes little lunging movements, as if to say, "I don't know if I want to go up this street or not." And when traveling down Main Street, the accelerator gets out of hand, and I have to throw it in first gear just to keep from flying off into space. And then there's the problem with the windshield. It has permanent dirt on it. I've washed it, many times, but the dirt remains. I think the dirty windshield was one of the accessories when I bought the car. Most cars come with a radio, carpeting, a rear-view window, a steering wheel. Mine came with a dirty windshield. Rolling over one of Park City's infamous bumps is quite an adventure in my car. I nearly have an intimate relationship with every part of the car when I go over a bad bump. The car seems to contract, then shake, and finally the obnoxious belching begins. And of course, I can't see the bump to avoid it because of the dirty windshield. Why don't I get rid of the car? Because it has personally offended me, and I want to get even with it before I send it off to the funny farm. Fixing it is out of the question. This would only make it feel better. I want revenge! As I lunge up Main Street in this thing that looks like a car, I hear the Ten O'clock Whistle. |