Ellie...The Orange Element: A Story of a Car...And Her Catalytic Converter

So, something weird happened. 

The other day I jump into my orange Honda Element…Ellie Girl we call her. My husband even has a song that goes, “The orange Element”. I guess the tune doesn’t really translate here, but it’s cute. So I start her up and, well, she sounds like 5 motorcycles are inside her engine and she’s shaking and then this waft of burnt rubber comes over me, so I shut her off.

What-The-Fuck. Like, what the hell is happening right now? So, as if I don’t believe that it’s actually happening, I start her again. And again, it’s like a pack of motorcycles are underneath me. A pack? No. That’s wolves. A herd? A tribe? It doesn’t matter.

And all I can think is, is this seriously happening? You know those times when you think, it’s never going to happen to you? Like, you see those people on the side of the road and their car’s like smoking and you think, whew! Thank the lord that’s not me? But now, it’s kind of me!

So, as this is happening I’m having one of those out of body experiences. And I’m realizing something very scary… I’m in charge. I’m the adult here.  My husband’s at work, no one’s around, and I have to make an executive decision about what happens next. So, what does happen next?

AAA. That’s what happens next. I call. And I’m shaking and my mouth has emptied itself of all saliva because now my anxiety disorder is kicking in. Pre-Zoloft, I’d be crying hysterically by this point, hyperventilating, and looking for something to throw up in. Post-Zoloft, my episodes are much milder. I can take a step back and talk myself down a little more rationally. So the line is ringing and a woman picks up.

“Thank you for calling AAA roadside assistance. How can I help you?” 

“Hi. My car sounds like a motorcycle. And it’s not. It’s a car.”

“Oh no, that doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it’s not.”

After three minutes I hang up after she tells me they’re sending someone out. And I’m still sweating and still shaking and I need to get in the house to feed my cat and go to the bathroom. And I’m talking to myself the whole time,  as if some invisible entity is actually listening to me. And I’m pacing around my house and talking…out loud. Or to the cat. But he’s not really listening. He’s focusing on his Turkey Feast in Gravy Fancy Feast.

Twenty minutes later AAA comes.  This man about my height…so, short…walks towards me. He’s pretty non-descript looking but appears nice. He’s got his little clipboard out and I’m ready to hand him all of my cards. Seriously, I’m holding like 6 cards from my wallet. My ID, my insurance card, my AAA card, my debit card, my mechanic card, and a red H&M gift card for some apparent reason.

“I think it’s my muffler.” I say.

And he says, “Oh no. You’re my fourth one today.”

“What do you mean? The fourth muffler problem today?”

“No, those rats got you. They climbed under your car and got your catalytic converter.”

And I’m stuck on the word “rats”. Like, actual rats got under my car and took something? And then he tells me to bend down and look under my car.

“See? See those wires hanging down? They stole your catalytic converter. It’s been happening all over.”

Okay, hold up dude. I know that you know what you’re talking about but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t even know what a catalytic converter is or how it’s spelled or how to even pronounce it.

“What do you mean? Someone took a part from under my car?”

“Yes. They’re taking them and selling them.”

And then it begins to really hit me. Someone stole a part of my Ellie Girl! A vital part! She was tampered with! Violated! Mugged! Those bastards! Those rat bastards! I now understand his use of the word “rat”.

And I suddenly flashback to our first meeting. Ellie and I. It was September of 2003. I hadn’t planned on buying her. Just a quick look, you know? But she was so sparkly orange and cute. And after a mere five hours of negotiating at the Honda dealership in North Hollywood, she was mine. Apparently they didn’t understand that my bottom line monthly payment was truly my bottom line.

“You need to call SMPD and file a report and then you need to file a claim with your insurance company. You have insurance, right? Because this part is $2,000.00 dollars.”

Well, this whips me right back into the present moment.  So here’s when I require extremely detailed information here. My ADD cannot kick in. I’m the only one who can possibly relay this to all future involved parties. I pull out my phone.

“Okay, can you spell what this part is?”

But he can’t really spell it. He tells me C-A-T-L-Y-I-C. He wishes me luck and leaves.  So, I sprint into the house and immediately look up catlyic converter on my ipad.  And my cat is yelling at me because he wants more food but I’m in a mode. A crazy, sweaty, focused mode. And all these Amazon sites come up for some TV converter or something. So, I try another spelling and I find it.  It’s major. Like, controlling the exhaust major. I call SMPD and try to figure out how I’m going to describe this.

“Santa Monica Police Department.”

“Hi…um, someone stole something from under my car and---“

“Catalytic Converter?”

Just like that. Without a beat.

“Yes! I’m so glad you know what I’m talking about!”

“Yeah, we’ve had a lot of those lately. Okay, we’ll send someone out.”

Now I call my insurance company.

“Hi, someone stole something from under my car and---“

“Catalytic Converter?”

“Yes!”

Same conversation. In a matter of 30 minutes I went from never hearing these two words to now having everyone know these two words! Like, they’re just part of everyone’s vocabulary. Everyone secretly knows what the hell a catalytic converter is. I wonder for a second how I’m not in the loop. Am I the only idiot? Does every single person on the planet know what a catalytic converter is?

Cutting to the chase, my deductible is $500.00. So, not only has my poor Ellie been attached but I now have to pay $500.00. This is total BS, man.

I text my husband who’s on set.    “Can you call me? It’s Ellie!”

He calls within 15 minutes.  And I tell him the whole story.  And then I begin to warn my neighbors.  People I pass on our street who I’ve never spoken to.  The group who hangs out a few houses down in their pickup truck and feeds birds all day.  And these three men, all about 60 years old, are staring at me like I’m not really talking, flicking peanuts onto the sidewalk as I’m flailing my arms. Except for one woman who’s boobs are about to spill out of her black and white striped sundress. She’s in as much shock as I am. Thank god! I need someone to validate my feelings because my cat sure isn’t going to. He just wants to punish me for being gone all day.

So, now I’m waiting. I’m waiting for someone called “an adjuster” and I have Enterprise on hold and I don’t really know what’s going to come next. 

I get back inside my house, starving and, oddly, laughing. I lean down to pet my cat and say to him,

“Well, I needed something to write about this week.”