seatbelt saga

For at least a couple years now, the driver's seatbelt in my beloved 95 Geo Prizm has been tempermental, showing its sticky side most often in the summer months. I'll get into the car, reach for the belt, it'll stick, I'll swear, tug, tug, tug, it'll finally give, and I'll be on my way. This week it got real bad. I mean real. bad. On Monday I stopped by the car fix-it place and asked if I could borrow a man with really big muscles to tug on it for me. He came out, tugged and tugged and tugged, and finally got it.

"You're my hero."

"You're gonna need a new seatbelt."

"Yeah, but for now I'm in denial." I drive off, and struggle with the damn thing every time I get in the car. It gets so bad that if I've been successful in getting the seatbelt to work, when I get OUT of the car, I buckle it so that I'll be assured some give when I get back in the car. It didn't always work.

Two days later I stopped by said fix-it place again to make an appointment to have the seatbelt replaced. Estimate: $300. Sounds worse spelled out. Ahem. Three. hundred. dollars. For a seatbelt. Why? Because it's a 95 car, for one, they can't use used parts, two, and they only make so many of these for older cars. Supply and demand, as it were. The seatbelt itself was $217.50. Jeebus. Labor, about $55.

Last night, I had friends over and I'm telling this story.

Me: So I reasoned that if I got pulled over for not wearing the seatbelt, it'd probably be $100 ticket, so I may as well just bite the bullet and pay for it.

Sarah: Not to mention that you might be DEAD.

Me: I've told that story to many people and you're the first to say that. Huh. Three hundred dollars.....my life (here I'm doing the scale balancing gesture with my hands).

Later that night Sarah takes a photo of me from the side--a profile shot, as it were. NOT. PRETTY. She shows it to me and I beg her to delete it.

Me: That picture's enough to make me want to go get my money back for the seatbelt. I'll take my chances.