Wishes (for) a wheel

Before I moved to Atlanta, a former colleague of mine informed me that "Atlanta traffic will eat your soul". Since I hadn't driven in about eight years, the concept of traffic was foreign to me, and I was expecting the worst. And as anyone who has been a reader of this blog for more than a week will know, I hate driving. Passionately. I grew up in the middle of nowhere, where my biggest obstacles in driving were wild animals. I am no stranger to honking a moose out of my way- but a tollbooth? What is this foreign creature?
I knew Atlanta had MARTA, so I figured I'd be set for awhile, and could take my sweet time on buying a car. Unfortunately, I learned very, very, quickly that MARTA goes approximately nowhere (except the airport), so I cried a singular tear for the CTA- the main object of my social media rants for so many years- and bought a car.

Prior to the family Jetta, as my coworkers have lovingly named it, the most expensive thing I owned was a Macbook Pro, and I was quite content with that. Sadly, I think the Family Jetta knew it was not being appreciated and has decided to rebel. Let's go back through the past month, shall we?

Thursday, April 10th:

Family Jetta decides that it's done with the clutch, breaks it into a million pieces. Family Jetta gets towed by AAA and a small fortune is spent. After several days bumming rides from coworkers, Family Jetta has a shiny new clutch and should be back in action. Sidenote, I lamented to several friends the expense of said new clutch and three of them thought I meant a purse. No, I didn't invest in some Chanel, the family Jetta has a manual transmission.

Friday, May 9th:

We almost make it a month before disaster strikes again. This time, in the form of debris on 285 (any Atlantan will know what a disaster 285 is- the location responsible for both chips in Fam Jetta's windshield, and also I saw a car on fire there once*). We make it approximately five feet before the scent of burning rubber informs me it's time to call 511.**

Saturday, May 10th:

Family Jetta and I find our way to Pepboys, where I spend more than the GDP of Djibouti on a new tire. At this juncture, I'd like to point out that I bought the car used, and would NEVER be as tacky as to put 18' rims and low profile tires on a Jetta, but alas, it was not my decision. I now pay for the mistakes of someone else in the Family Jetta's sordid past.

Monday, May 12th:

I try my hardest to not drive on weekends, so we take a break on Sunday. Monday morning rolls around, and what do we have? Another flat tire. A good samaritan in the parking lot pointed this out via legal notice (there's that Southern Hospitality, folks!) and my poor coworker got to help me change back to the spare tire. And by help me I mean I watched. Thanks, DG.

Here we are Tuesday, May 13th and I'm not quite sure where to go next. Anybody know any good deals on douchecanoe status VW wheels in ATL? Or even better, is anybody in the market for a gently used vehicle? Juuuuust kidding. Kind of. If you've got any ideas, I'll be over here listening to Beach House and wishing for a new wheel. To find out how this saga ends, follow me on Instagram. 

*I'm not kidding, this car was on fire. I know you just sang Alicia Keys. **Note, everyone in ATL hates the DOT thanks to Snowmaggedon and Ad Valorem taxes (which are absurd, BT dubs) but I do highly appreciate the 511 program. One quick call and you've got a tow/tire changer in route. Props to the State of Georgia for doing it right.