Dear Santa Fe,
At first I was attracted to you because of your name. A close second was your price.
You’ve given me 30,000 miles, though you started burning oil soon after I got you.
It’s been an eventful 2 years. I shared you with my son for a year after his car died.
During that time, you were hit twice, once by the infamous Steve-O of the “Jackass” TV show.
Like a Timex watch, you took “a licking and kept on ticking.”
You have kept me humble with your little puffs of black smoke and your bumpers laced together by plastic twist ties with locks.
Yesterday I got the news that your air conditioner compressor needs replacing.
I refuse to pay 1/5 of what I paid for you to repair you. The next thing will be replacing your tires, which have begun to dry rot, and God only knows what else.
Sorry, but I’m just not that sentimental. Thank you for the (cough, cough, sputter, sputter) service you’ve given me.
It’s a good thing that my daughter is graduating from college and will soon be home with her car. I can’t take many more days without AC.
Again, my sincerest, snarkiest thanks, dear Santa Fe. I will be a little wiser the next time I buy.