Death by Zafira

A brief history of the many times our old Zafira tried to kill us.

It was 2013 when my father arrived home in his new Zafira. I was 9 and at that point had not found an interest in any car other than a lamborghini, however given that this my first experience with a new car, it was exciting stuff. Little did we know (my family, that is), out on our drivetribe sat a crazy-german-human-murdering-monster-machine, which we had now given a home. Over the course of the next few years our new Zafira would do anything to get us six feet under, and I am still none the wiser as to why, I think looking back its plan was world domination.

Now don't get me wrong, it was an asolutely lovely car to live with, I wish I had been more grateful for it at the time. But it seems as though god did not want us to be happy, and so this car became a curse. The first experience was not long into our ownership of our MPV Opel. We were on the motorway, travelling across England to get to the grandparents. We swapped lanes and so a car ahead decided to slam on the brakes. Within the space of a few seconds, the entire busy motorway went from 120-0. Crashes, swerves, screeches. Quite the experience, one I don't plan on re-living anytime soon. Yes this has nothing to do with our Zafira at all, but it was there, and I think he* planned for it to be that way.

*I say he because I find it very easy to determine what cars are male and what cars are female. Just take my word on it I'm weird.

Next was on another motorway, back in Ireland. Shit didn't like motorways, oh yeah that was his name. Shit. I chose it based off our reactions everytime he tried to kill us. For those of you who don't know Ireland, just know Kildare to Galway is a good three hour or so journey (don't ask why we were going to Galway of all places). We had only just reached the furthest lane into the motorway when Shit decided he was having none of it, he would sooner die than make the trip to Galway. So he blew a tire. Thankfully my dad is quite the driver I should say so we made it to the hard-shoulder. Anyway long story short we got to Galway with family in the end., luckily for Shit he didn't.

The third time was when Shit decided to have a splash in the biggest puddle the world had ever seen. This, was not actually on the motorway believe it or not. It was on the entrance to the motorway. Oh in Ireland btw, not that that's important it's just I like to set the scene. And I like Ireland. ANYWAY, there was no need for signs or borders or re-routes or anything like that because all morning little Yaris and Golf hatches had steamed through with minimal fuss and maximum dignity. So we figured, hell if they can do it. But in typical fashion, Shit was having none of it. No sooner had he touched the water he remembered he in fact was not a boat, but an annoying little Opel. And so he broke down. My father in particular did not take this 'spanner in the works' very well. And my mother took his.....'choice words' even worse. Overall good day though.

Now at this point you may be like ok he's gonna say thanks for reading and then doubt himself that anyone actually read this far, but you'd be wrong. Shit was only getting started. This next occasion occured in Dun Laoighaire Port (which I regret to inform you all is now long shut๐Ÿฅบ, moment of silence for the place). We were boarding the Stena Superslow as I call it, to go across to Holyhead in Wales. To then go on to England la la la you get the idea. Shit was rather old at this point, but had long kept his determination to end us in high spirits. The nightmare ramp for getting to the upper car deck was inevitable for our car. It was steep, it was wet, and the worst part was we would only make it half way up before having to stop and wait for the other cars to get their asses out of our way. However, we had to go to avoid blocking the trucks from boarding. And so we (in dead silence, and with a look of pure concentration on my dad's face). Then we stopped. Unintentionally. Thanks to Shit. Being a little shit. The handbrake was never pulled so quickly, and after we all had a heart attack, we restarted and creeped to the top, just barely. Not a fond memory by any means๐Ÿ˜‚.

And finally, the straw that broke the Zafira's clutch. We were in the capital, in a massive busy area with a massive busy roundabout. Perfect place for a sudden breakdown then. The clutch went, we stalled, and my dad lost it with a pikey who came to the conclusion that we must've stopped there for a picnic, and had a go with his horn. Although I can't say it wasn't about time. Shit had lived his life, and never managed to achieve his goal of killing my entire family. Good times.......

Thank you for reading.

Rest in pieces Shit.

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