This is a love..and hate..and love..and hate, story. In the 1970's, I was working at my first job after graduating college. I had jobs while a college student, cleaning toilets in a department store, driving people to and from JFK and LaGuardia Airports, but those were part time jobs. My first full time job was as a salesman in a camera store in my downtown area. I accepted the position mainly because I needed the money to pay off my college loans. I rationalized that it was okay to work in a camera store because I had gotten my B.A. in photography and this was (sort of) related, and maybe I could get some deals on camera gear, (which I did).
I had one of my parent's cars to use to get to work, a 1970 Chevrolet Impala. My Dad loved Chevy's, and they were great cars that went for years. Now that I was making a little money, I wanted a cooler car, maybe something sporty. After about a year on the job, a cousin of mine was selling his car. It was a 1973 MG Convertible, white, and looked beautiful. I bought it, ignoring what I had heard many times: "never do business with relatives". In the beginning, I was in heaven. I was in my 20's, single, and had a hot little sports car. Then the problems started. I didn't know of the reputation of British sports cars, but boy did I learn. I hadn't really paid attention to the fact that instead of one 12 volt battery under the hood, (or bonnet?), there were two six-volt batteries connected together in tandem BEHIND the drivers seat. Right out in the open, kind of rattling around. Why were they there instead of under the hood, nicely anchored down? Who the hell knows!? But there they were, waiting to blow up at anytime. They didn't blow up, but that's about the only bad thing that DIDN'T happen. Those batteries would constantly lose connection. The cables were screwed into the battery posts, ah yes, the infamous Lucas Electrics of the MG..
One time, I was driving home from a friends at night and something fell on my foot..I was able to get home, but the spring from the accelerator pedal was on the floor. The next incident was a bit more serious..getting off of the interstate, the engine felt sluggish, no pep at all. I got to a mechanic and learned a new expression: "you threw a rod". A thousand dollars later, and a different (rebuilt) engine, I was on the road again..but not for long. The 'new' motor developed a 'ping'. Returning to my new home away from home, (the mechanic), "damn, this motors bad". He put in ANOTHER motor. At least the replacement motor was at his expense. Oh, btw, a friend who drove me to the garage to pick up my car, rear-ended my MG on the way home when I had to make a quick stop..and she was driving my PARENTS CAR! ^%^&&$$)*^
more to follow...