Treasuring my mighty Mondeo memories
I’ve officially joined the world of adults: I bought a new car. Sure, while I entered the big bad world of professional career-dom two years ago, there was a small part of me that remained a student, as I continued to drive the car that had been by my side since my second year of university.
The Wise Woman AKA Mum said to me: ‘‘don’t you feel embarrassed driving that to work? You should really be saving for a new car instead of a trip to Tahiti’’. Jeez Mum, ruthless much? As much as I loathe to admit it, she was right.
I certainly wasn’t embarrassed driving it, but it was definitely time to upgrade.
It’s not the flashiest of cars, but nor is it a complete bomb.
Ok, it’s a 1998 Ford Mondeo. #studentlife. Or, as I used to call it, the Mighty Mondeo (MM).
Over the five years I had the car, many memories were made. Not those kind of memories. There was the time my flatmate sober D’d for me and some mates after a concert, when we all had the drunk munchies and decided we wanted some Burger King.
Being that it was straight after a major concert, the whole drivethrough was full of cars with people in states similar to us, but by the time it got to the speaker box, none of us were hungry any more.
My poor flatmate was charged with making a tragic order.
‘‘Hi, can I get a cup of water please?’’ There was a rather pregnant pause on the other end from the drive-through operator.
We waited 45 minutes in a drive-through for a cup of water. Said flatmate was not pleased. In happier times, a group of us took the car to the Ashburton Lakes area to investigate the ice skating opportunities.
After a banter-laden drive to Lake Camp and Lake Clearwater, we tested the waters (lol) with our slightly-too-big $20 skates we’d bought from the ice-skating rink.
However, as it was the end of the winter period, the ice was beginning to get a bit thin around the edges. When we’d decided we’d had enough, we crept toward the shore and tried to jump from the more secure ice to the bank. Some of us have shorter legs. Some of us can’t jump as far as the others.
I ended up falling through the ice, submerged up to my hips in the icy depths of the glacial-feeling lake.
Despite the warm memories, ol’ MM didn’t get the warmest of responses from my peers when it first made it onto the scene.
When I brought it up to Christchurch for the university year after buying it down south, my flatmate said to me: ‘‘did you turn 80 while you were buying it?’’.
He wasn’t making any smart arse comments when I picked him from beside the Avon River after he’d fallen out of his kayak during an afternoon excursion and was freezing his tush off.
Now that our time together has finished, I’m hoping MM and another student will be able to forge some new memories together.
For me, I’m looking forward to having a car that doesn’t make Mum sigh every time she sees it.
The new one, she’s a ripper. Or so my uncle tells me – he’s the mechanically minded one in our family, so I charged him with finding an appropriate vehicle for the next phase of my life.
I was very specific with my instructions: no hatchbacks, engine size not smaller than 1600cc but no bigger than 2000cc, less than 120,000km on the clock, and nothing too grandpa-looking (I’d already had enough flak with the MM).
And, most importantly, nothing white. I once nearly got run over by a white van while on a school trip in Palmerston North, and from that day I’ve never liked white vehicles.
The new car is black, like the colour of my soul – empty on the inside. Just like my bank account. Next on the agenda: saving for Tahiti.