Why Do Cars Hate Me?

My phone pinged.

I glanced down, with a feeling of apprehension reminiscent of when you get an unexpected email from your boss over the weekend. Thankfully, it wasn’t my boss messaging me, but someone almost as terrifying…my mechanic.

Let me rewind a little.

Over the past two years, I’ve had three cars. Now, one could assume that this is a result of having the lovely fortune of switching cars every time the fancy hits me, but alas, that is not the case. It’s sadly simpler than that—cars just hate me.

At the start of 2025, my Chrysler 200 decided on the coldest week of the year that car heat was a luxury I clearly could not afford anymore. Really, I don’t know why I was surprised, considering that for the previous two years the AC had never worked, resulting in summers where I did my best not to have a heat stroke every time I got in the car. However, I was always grateful that I could rely on it to warm my brittle bones in the cold of winter…or so I thought.

Thankfully, my roommate took pity on me and sold me his Kia Forte, as he had been planning on buying a new car anyway. Time does not permit me to detail the drama the Chrysler gave me in the process of selling it on Facebook Marketplace, but let’s just say it had attachment issues.

For the next few months, I proudly drove around in my new car, gleefully turning the air from hot to cold, just because I finally could. But of course, it was too good to be true (did I mention I had a Kia…IYKYK).

It was 2:50 a.m., the air was slightly sticky with the July humidity, and I was rushing because I was going to be late to the gym (don’t ask). I quickly dashed out of the door of my apartment complex and came to an abrupt stop.

Where was my car?

I stood still for roughly ten seconds, staring at the empty parking spot where I had parked my car the previous night. My confusion continued to heighten, and I literally turned around and checked if I was outside the wrong apartment building. Having confirmed that I had not randomly teleported to a different building, I turned back to the empty parking spot and said to no one in particular: “Oh, my car has been stolen.”

I’ll save you a bit of time and summarize my tale. My car had been stolen by “Kia boys,” who then foolishly crashed it (oh the youths!), and the cops found it a few days later. Thankfully, I was able to get it fixed, but I was not willing to risk a repeat case, and so I sold it on Marketplace and bought my current car, a Toyota RAV-4.

Exhausted from my escapades with cars, I consulted everyone under the sun for their opinion/advice on my next car purchase before I bought the RAV. Everyone, including my mechanic, swore that Toyotas are known for their reliability, safety and affordability. So, when I found my RAV on Marketplace, I snatched it up with a sigh of relief that I’d finally found a car that would not further traumatize me.

Yeeaaaahh, a week after purchasing it, I was back on Facebook trying to see how much I could get if I sold it.🤦‍♂️

Once again, I don’t have enough time to detail all the adventures the RAV has taken me on, but the last year has been almost humorous in how the RAV has defied its reputation for reliability…almost.

All these thoughts raced through my head last week, as I went to read the text from my mechanic. I’d asked him to do a quick diagnostic on the car, as there were some unfamiliar creaks and groans that my blaring music was unfortunately not drowning.  

I said a quick prayer as I swiped open my phone. “Please God, I can’t afford anything wrong with the car again.”

His text was short. Just two words.

“Bad news.”