Tuesday, February 24, 2015

A Romanian In A Junkyard


Like a kid in a candy store. Or like a Cuban mechanic in an American junkyard. (Back in Romania we were also fixing almost everything, although the luckier (than me) could buy new French Renaults built there under license or Russian Jigulis.)

That's how i felt back in @96 when i first entered one. For between 2 and 20 bucks could get most of the parts provided you had the tools and knowledge to take them off. I would have hugged any shiny engine in there. I was getting high just by realizing the richness of the country i was in. And i was sure in a few years i won't be needing to get there anymore.

The first part i ever bought was a carburetor for my first car ever, an 83 Fairmont with 6 cylinders of 2.9 liters (of wich 5 were working LOL). But that was at a junkyard where they were pulling the part for you, somewhere on Columbia boulevard.

Today i went just for the pictures. But i stopped when i got next to a car that was identical with Angela's 93 Sentra. Everything in there was newer then her car. The car sat on wheels that didn't have time to get lower in the gravel. But all i wanted were the headlights. It had glass headlights, not plastic ones like her car has and went opaque over the years.

But i didn't have tools. I went looking around to burrow a tool, which is kinda difficult in a junkyard because everybody there is grumpy anyways. All the actors that came in after i got in and jumped in front of the camera every time i was taking a picture of a car disappeared. Came back still looking at those headlights when i saw one was rock chipped.

Then i ran out of battery for the camera.

When i came out i told the guy that gave me permission to take pictures when i got in that i wanted those headlights but one was chipped and he said the one that's not cracked is 31 bucks.

Everything got more expensive since 1996. I don't feel rich anymore. In fact, i feel like a bum. And today i realized. Never got over that stage when i loved junkyards.

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