28 August, 2010 – 5:34 pm
We bought a 1997 Ford Aerostar van in 2007. It was the cargo van style, black, with a red Ferrari decal on each side, 263000 miles. I used it to go to Alpha Shirt distributor and get blanks shirts once a week with it, as well as traveling around town, running errands, picking up stuff for the shop, et cetera. It ran pretty well, occasional work was needed. There was nothing nice about the van. It sounded like it may disintegrate when you hit bumps. It only had a AM/FM radio. It didn’t even have an armrest on the driver’s side door, as that came off earlier this year. Terrible gas mileage, but it was kind of fun to own and was overall reliable. The decals never stopped being slightly humorous.
Fast forward to June 2010. 289000 miles on this van (previous owner reported that the prior owner had replaced the engine at about 175000 miles but I’m not sure why he bothered). It’s a Sunday and we’re supposed to have a cookout but the weather looked crummy so we canceled and I headed to the shop to try to get some work done. Two blocks from the shop in West Philly, I stop at a stop sign and let a guy cross the street. A car to my left stops at its stop sign. He made a complete stop, and I was there first so I proceed through the intersection. I see that he’s coming out the corner of my eye so I punch the gas. Next thing I know he’s whacking into me hard, terrible noise, the van is being spun around and catches and slowly falls over on the passenger side. It was crazy. I had never been in an accident before. Luckily my dog wasn’t with me and also luckily I had my seatbelt on, which I didn’t always do but now, and you should too because you never know what bozos are out there. Anyway, the van is on its side, I’m still strapped in, held in by the seatbelt which I couldn’t undo. I look out the front window and windshield wiper fluid is streaming out of those little nozzles. People are coming up, asking if I’m okay, if there are kids in the car. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” I undo the seatbelt and roll down the driver’s window, and hoist myself up, leaving my bag in the car, which has my laptop and some other gear. The passenger window was smashed, as the side mirror had been folded in. The window tinting held the glass together. Without a seatbelt, I probably would have been cut up or bruised up or both.
So at this point, I’m out of the car, flying on adrenaline. I talk to the other driver, who seemed like a cool guy, and wasn’t hurt or angry. Cops and paramedics come. They take my blood pressure and remark that it’s great, even for normal situations. They ask me if I’m okay, I say yes and then they leave. I appreciate the work they do, but they should not immediately ask if you’re okay, because you feel reduced pain when you have an adrenaline rush. I know this from bicycle accidents, where I went down hard and slid on asphalt, and felt fine for fifteen minutes, and then all of a sudden it sets in and you feel like you got chokeslammed by the universe.
The cops are funny, having a good time, and they flip my van back upright. I steer as they push me to a parking spot. They tell me that the van will be stripped if I leave it there over night (not a great neighborhood). At this point it doesn’t run and I think it’s totaled. The other driver came over and gave me his real name, but a fake phone number. The Philadelphia Police Department no longer investigates car accidents due to budgetary restraints, so they had just told the other guy to give me his info. He didn’t give me his info, and he gave the cops false insurance information. We later went to the police department and was able to get the guy’s home information and name and the reported insurance information. I told the police the next day that the guy had given us fake info and they didn’t care.
I call AAA and a tow truck came. I figured I’d have it towed to our house and then figure out what to do. Miraculously the AAA driver gets it to run by turning off the safety switch that activates to restrict the flow of fuel when the vehicle rolls, and he reattaches the battery and it runs, although it did act pretty rough at first.
The guy who hit me did real damage to the van, severely messed up the left side panel towards the bottom, we lost the window and the mirror. I taped up the window and we got used to not having the mirror and it ran for maybe a month more. My fiancé still drove it to work but we knew that the end was nearing. The guy who hit me ended up calling me two days later to see if I were doing okay and we talked a few times, with him saying he’d give me $500 cash but needed time to get it together, and I agree but when the time came for him to pay I could never get a hold of him on the phone. He was always supposedly either asleep, still at work or a little kid would answer and be told to hang up. I gave up. There are tons of uninsured drivers in Philadelphia.
One day my fiancé was driving home from work and ran an errand on the way. After the errand, the power steering went out. She made it home and when I arrived after work she told me not to be mad but something was really wrong with the van. I go out to inspect and see that the temperature gauge is beyond hot. She had said that there was something hanging underneath the van and I did see something down there. I pop the hood, not knowing much about engines at all but assuming I could tell if something major was wrong. The serpentine belt, the one that runs the fan and other lovely features like power steering, is shredded, done. I talk to two mechanics that I know and both say don’t bother fixing it. The van is worth almost nothing at this point.
We let it sit on that side of the street around the corner from our house until someone writes a note saying please move it, and then I drive it to the other side of the street, to my block, and leave it there.
That was like a month ago. We’ve been meaning to do something with it and plan to donate it to NPR. In the meantime, it has sat, parallel parked, with all valuables removed.
Sunday night we got back from a visit to my parents and I’m about done for the night when my downstairs neighbor calls saying that the police are here and need to talk to us because someone broke into our car. We have a nice Volvo now so I’m thinking that someone had smashed the window and I’d have to deal with that headache, cost and hassle. We talk to the cops and it wasn’t the Volvo, it was our busted old van. Here’s what happened…
11pm on a Sunday night, two young, stupid criminals are going around the neighborhood with a flashlight looking into cars. A neighbor calls 911 to report it. In the meantime, the kids cut the plastic window of our van. Cops come to investigate and one of the kids attacks a cop with a screwdriver, which is an extremely awful idea. A whole lot of cops come to handle it. The cops find us and take our information.
After we talk to the cops I just tape up the window and consider it done, being reminded that we do indeed need to get rid of this van. But now we’ve been subpoenaed to appear in court to talk about our damages because the violators were underage.
We moved on and got a Volvo about a month ago and it is working out great. I don’t miss the van, although being able to pick up big stuff was cool. Every man with a van or pickup truck knows the burden he bears, which is that he will be called regularly to assist moving furniture with said vehicle.
The van with two feet of snow on it during one of the blizzards this winter.
Rest In Peace.
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