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You ever notice how car mileage is like the ultimate relationship status for vehicles? It's like the car's way of saying, "Hey, I've been around the block a few times." I wish humans were as upfront about their mileage. Imagine meeting someone at a bar, and instead of asking, "What do you do for a living?" you just go, "So, what's your mileage, buddy?" And then there's that awkward moment when you're buying a used car, and the seller is trying to play it cool. "Oh, it's got low mileage for its age." Low mileage for its age? I want to see the car's Carfax, not its birth certificate. I don't need a vehicle with an AARP card.
But you know what's worse? When someone tries to impress you with their car's low mileage, and it turns out they've been resetting the odometer. It's like finding out your friend Photoshopped their Instagram pics – I thought you were a '98 model, not a 2010!
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Mileage is a lot like relationships. In the beginning, everything is smooth, and you're cruising down the highway of love. You're in that honeymoon phase, and you feel like you're getting infinite miles to the gallon. But then, as time goes on, the miles start adding up. You hit a few potholes, maybe run over a relationship speed bump or two. Suddenly, your relationship is like an old clunker, barely chugging along, and you're thinking, "Man, I should have traded up when I had the chance."
And don't get me started on the dreaded "relationship check engine light." That's when you realize, "Uh-oh, something's not right here." But instead of taking it to a mechanic, you just ignore it and hope it goes away. Spoiler alert: It never does.
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I recently realized my car has more miles on it than I've traveled in my entire life. It's like my car is the world traveler, and I'm just the chauffeur. I look at the odometer, and I'm like, "Wow, you've been places I can only dream of." I imagine my car has its own secret life. It probably tells stories to other cars in the parking lot about the crazy road trips it's been on. Meanwhile, I'm over here like, "Yeah, my car went to more places last year than I did. It's living its best life."
And then there's the fear that my car is secretly judging my driving skills. Every time I hit a pothole, I can almost hear it sigh, "Really? This is how you treat me after all the miles we've been through?" I'm just waiting for my car to start giving me passive-aggressive driving tips. "In 1,000 feet, make a right turn – or don't. I'm just a car, what do I know?
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I suffer from mileage anxiety. You know, that feeling when your gas tank is on empty, and you're stuck in traffic, and you start calculating if you can make it to the next gas station or if you'll be stranded on the side of the road like a sad, abandoned vehicle. I always think my car is judging me. It's like, "Come on, you couldn't spare a few minutes to fill me up? I've been running on fumes for miles!" I'm waiting for the day my car develops a passive-aggressive GPS voice: "In 500 feet, you'll wish you had stopped for gas."
And then there's the gas station dance. You pull up to the pump, and suddenly, you're trying to position your car just right so that the gas cap is on the correct side. It's like a weird automotive ballet, and everyone's a prima donna.
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