Rainbow’s Satanic Side

I’ve written a few times about my lady of the lanes, Rainbow Satan. Her make: Buick. Model: Regal Limited. Year: well, a gentleman never asks and a lady never tells. Funny story, actually, the guy I purchased Rainbow from had her listed as a '97, but my incredibly trustworthy mechanic revealed, rather rudely, that she was fudging her age.

“It’s a ‘96,” Bob said.

“You mean, ‘She.'"

“Yeah, Brad, ‘She’ is a 1996.” The eye roll was new, but the gum smacking and mustache licking came standard. “By the way, you shouldn’t refer to vehicles as female. I don’t care if your 8^th-grade history teacher told you that ships and countries are to be labeled with a feminine pronoun. It’s just plain sexist. To compare a woman to a well-built, reliable motor vehicle is wrong and I won’t allow it in my shop!”

Bob, passionate about 2 things: carburetors and gender-neutral monikers. Oh, and licking that fucking mustache.

“Bob!”

“Sorry.”

Rainbow’s been with me since ’09, and besides one and two bumps in the road, she's treated me quite well. But as of late, she’s been revealing her satanic side far too often. 

Joint custody of awesome experiences means that Roommate and I sometimes drive separately. Take the other night: we're coming back from a fantastic theatre production his high schoolers put on, Rainbow bounce-gliding to the right of his smooth "Black Betty." We come to a stop light, also known as "more bonding time," and Roommate rolls down his passenger window to share the melodic morsel his ears are eating up. Rainbow has automatic windows, so a press of a button glides mine down so I can hear this song: 

And a big "Fuck yeah" for Tiny Toons.

It's a great song, but it's weird, which is why it was perfect for the 6 mixes I created in one of my grand pranks. Roommate has never heard it before and he's loving it, laughing at its absurdity, and mock-jamming out. And then the cross light turns yellow. Black Betty grants Roommate's window the up, but Rainbow isn't so kind. I'm confused and panicky as the cross light turns red. 

This is new. She's done a lot of things, but never this before. I keep jabbing at the button, poking "up," then "down," then "up" again, but nothing is working and our light is green. Roommate is laughing as we pull away from the intersection, me struggling to manually pull the window up by pinching the little bit poking out of the frame between my fingers. But that's not working either. I awkwardly put on my gloves because it's cold out, and roommate drives next to me in hysterics.  

Questions about my future with a broken window begin bubbling. Will I have to drive everywhere with this thing down? The panic builds. Will I have to bundle up every fucking place I fucking drive? The fucking summer will be fine, but fuck! What about next fucking winter?! And what about my fucking shit!? PEOPLE ARE GONNA STEAL MY SHIT! My, um, my- I look around for possessions thieves would take the risk of being seen in a '96 Buick for. My candy rapper? No. My empty bottle of Gatorade? No, that might be gone by then. My iPod? Yes!  My iPod! Wait, I can just take that with me... 


My mind conjures clearly the most probable of scenarios: Once the thief realizes I don't have anything to steal and their street cred has gone out my open window, they're gonna be pissed. So pissed, that they're gonna either piss or shit in my car. Shit! But before my mind centers on odors and textures, the window lurches upward. "Yes," I shout to the newly-closed window, hurting my ear drums. Well friends, this short story has a happy ending: Rainbow hasn't given me anymore trouble with that window - knock on woo—wait. No wood in sight. Does an erection work? 

Now, it's been just over a year since I mentioned Rainbow in a post, and it was almost immediately after I pressed "publish" on said post that the vibrations began. And these are not the good, good, good, good vibrations. They're bad, literally, to the bone. First, my back driver side window: a furious rattle that really puts a damper on my Joni Mitchell scream fests.  

I'm gonna let that one settle in.

Wait for it...

Waaaait for it......

Aaaaaaand Brad scream fest.

Now, first vibration has an easy, though temporary fix: rolling down the window a smidge. But the second vibration, oh the second vibration! You know that phrase, "You don't know someone until you drive a mile in their '96 Buick Regal Limited"? Well, that phrase was inspired by my driver's seat. Rainbow has made a habit of inflating my lower lumbar support at will. Stop sign? Perfect time to give Brad the extra back support he needs! Right turn? Vibration station here we come! Left turn? Wait, why didn't it do the—what the fuck? Lemme try the left turn again. Come on! You're supposed to do th—ahhhh there it is you FUCK! 

It's literally one of the most annoying things I've experienced. And it's not just the vibration, because that's really just the motor that pumps the air into the back sack. It's the newly inflated back sack! I have to deflate it every 15 seconds or so because who wants to drive around with a football in their back? And you'd think that it would stop inflating once back sack reaches maximum inflation. Oh, no! The motor keeps pumping. Now you might be asking, "Where does the excess air go?" WELL I DON'T FUCKING KNOW! IT JUST KEEPS PUMPING! 

"Why don't you just pop it?" HotMom72 is my go-to guy for vibrating car seat advice. 

"Because it's not just the air, it's the fucking vibrations all over my ass!" 

"Well, why don't you cut the wire?" 

"Because every time I get out of my car I'm usually thinking about food or breasts or hockey so I completely forget about the unsolicited massage my ass was just getting! Plus, there is no easily accessible wire. I looked. And what if I cut the wrong one and I can no longer move my chair forward and backward?" 

It's gotten awkward a few times. Rainbow decided to pull her prank once while I was driving with a date. 

"Oh, this is hilarious," I said through gritted teeth. 

"What is that? Is your seat vibrating?"

"Look, if this, us, um, we, if we are gonna work out as a couple, thing, you're gonna have to accept me and my crap ass car." 

It didn't work out. 

J feels my pain. 

(or an image that popped up 

when I searched "cue the violins")

I wish this problem was as easy a fix as the last few problems, but it isn't. I wish I could just roll down the rattlin' window, or staple the hangy roof, or glue the flaccid side mirror, but noo! I've literally tried everything. And by everything I mean punching and kicking the seat, both while driving and parked. Oh, and one time I pressed real hard on the button that's supposed to set into motion this phenomenon, like really hard, and that fixed things for like 15 minutes. Literally, everything. 

Look, I've been told by my imagination that I should be grateful, that when I meet that special lady, we'll have a free, vibrating chair to have uncomfortable sex in. But until then, it's just plain infuriating. 

I'm actually afraid to post this because of what Rainbow might do if she finds out. What if word gets back to her somehow and she realizes the power she has over me, that I can't just leave ride at car, and she can crank up the revenge for all the times I've slighted her. Yeah, that probably won't happen, knock on, um, erection.