Emissions
"Hey, check that one out," Carl nodded to his station partner.
"Tell me you're looking at a girl this time," Austin replied, not looking up. Carl was far too easily impressed. Ten times a day he pointed out a new vehicle to drool over. And, sadly, the Boss Lady continued assigning Carl with him.
"Well, um, no. But really, this one's awsome. Seriously check it out."
Austin sighed. He dragged his eyes out over the lines of cars waiting for their emissions tests. It took only a moment to see what had caught Carl's eye this time. Next in line was a brilliant yellow, brand new, smoking hot Camaro, complete with twin racing stripes. Austin raised his eyebrows. Okay, Carl had a point. That was one awsome ride.
"Oh, man, can I take that one through?" Carl licked his lips.
"No way. It's my turn and you know it."
"Dammit, Austin! You owe me for, for, um … that thing, that one time. Um. C'mon! Have pity, man."
"Not. A. Chance." Austin waved his co-worker off as he approached the (sweet!) Camaro. A skinny kid stepped out, juggling his keys from hand to hand. The kid patted the hood.
"Hey, this is my first car. Never done this before. Is this emission thing gonna take long?"
Austin sighed. Great, some spoiled rich kid and his new toy. The guy probably never had to do a real day's work. And never would. Mommy and Daddy would buy him everything he wanted. Oh well, at least Austin would get a taste of this brat's life, even if it was just long enough to run it through the test.
"The test itself only takes about five minutes, assuming your car passes the first time. Fails require a re-test. But this beauty looks perfect. I don't see her having any problems."
"'Her'?" The kid smothered a bark of laughter behind his hand. "Okay, cool. I'm sure 'she' can behave 'herself' for five minutes. Right?" He patted the car again.
"Ri-i-ight. Anyway. Go into the booth over there. We'll call you when we're done, Mr. … ?"
"Sam. Sam Witwicky. Take good care of him."
"Okay, Mr. Witwackity. We'll call you soon."
The Wackwitzy kid passed the keys over. Austin shook his head as the kid moved off. He muttered, "Whack job."
Austin eagerly climbed behind the wheel. He ran his hands over the sleek leather interior. Just sitting there made him feel rich. The seat cushion was beyond plush. He bounced a few times. His butt had never been more comfortable. He breathed out a low whistle. His fingers caressed the upholstery, traveled along the dash and settled on the steering wheel. In the center was a strange insignia. Looked almost like a face. Odd. He shrugged it off.
"Okay, baby. I'm gonna show you how a real man handles a fine thing like you. Man, the girls probably fall all over you. I could score in a heartbeat driving you through town. Mmm-hmm. Just imagine all the things we could do in here." He felt the upholstery, fingers trailing across the slick leather. "That sorry kid has no business having a such sweet ride. You are too fine a machine to waste on that putz."
He eagerly turned the keys in the ignition.
Nothing happened.
He turned the keys again. Nothing. The engine didn't try to turn over. It made no sound at all, almost like the ignition wasn't even attached to the rest of the car. What the hell? Confused, he searched for a release or something. The Camaro had been purring like a smug kitten just a moment ago. He cranked the keys again and again.
The radio blared to life:
Hit the road, Jack and don't you come back no more, no more, no more, no more!
Hit the road, Jack and don't you come back no more!
Austin frantically reached for the knob. He cranked it down. The radio was insanely loud. Did the kid have the volume maxed? Carl stared back at him, dumbfounded. His co-worker meandered over.
"Uh, Austin, you really aught to move this thing forward. Boss Lady's gonna be pissed if she sees you just sitting there, listening to music. Our line's backing up." Carl motioned behind them.
"Shuddup. I'm trying, alright? This damn thing won't move. C'mon, baby, don't tease me. Show papa some love … " He cranked the keys again.
As if he hadn't just turned the it off, the radio blasted to life again, full volume.
You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't You? Don't You?
"The hell? Again!" He slapped at the radio, mashing the buttons down.
"Austin! Turn that crap down! You'll get us both busted." Carl glanced around the facility, nervous.
"I'm trying, I'm trying. This thing is possessed." Finally, he lowered the volume to a less-ear-bleeding level. He kicked the floorboards. "Stupid, stupid car."
"Dude, what's your problem?"
The speakers chimed in:
He's a cold-hearted snake
Look into his eyes
Oh oh oh …
"Goddamn radio, shuddup!"
"Did the radio just change channels? By itself?"
"This is crazy! What is going on?" Austin ran nervous fingers through his hair.
"I don't know, but I do know you better get this thing up to the station. Like now." Carl rapped his fingers sharply on the hood. The Camaro jerked forward. Falling backwards, Carl squawked, "Dude! Are you trying to kill me?"
"It's not me! It's not even running." Austin checked the car. It idled smoothly. "Well, it wasn't running, I swear. I didn't even turn the key."
"Just pull it up." Carl glared at him, walking away to the station.
Austin glanced around, seeing if the possessed Camaro and him had drawn any attention. The only person staring his way – intently staring – was the Wickwatty kid. The spoiled brat stared at him, hands tugging through his hair. Great, the kid probably thought he was screwing around with Daddy's gift.
Austin growled at the Camaro. What the hell was going on? First, he couldn't start it, then it just starts up on its own? And what was with the stereo? This car was haunted. Crazy, just crazy.
He gingerly gripped the wheel. With a warning glance at the radio, he eased it out of park. He chose not to think about how it had managed to move, unassisted, over a foot while still in park. Shaking his head, he carefully pressed down the accelerator.
And sat there. Not moving.
Carl stood in front of the Camaro, gesturing impatiently at the empty station. Exasperated, Austin dropped his head onto the steering wheel with a soft thud.
"Okay, I don't know what evil spirit you are, or how I pissed you off, but I'm sorry. Really I am. Completely and totally sorry. Please, dear God, please just let me finish this test."
Holding his breath, Austin tried the petal again. The Camaro gently pulled forward. Shocked, he hit the brake. The evil car stopped. Glancing around, he tried again. It eased forward, for all the world acting like a … car. Sweating, he moved the Camaro into the station.
"Good car, nice car." He carefully patted the steering wheel.
Austin ran through the tests, crooning at the car, telling it what a good machine it was. Refusing to even glance that way, he ignored Carl. The other attendant whirled his finger next to his ear, in a universal gesture for insanity. But that didn't matter. The ghosts were behaving, and he'd have this car done soon. He couldn't be happier.
The test ended early, indicating a passing score. Austin whooped, thumping the wheel under his hands.
"Oh, oh, I'm sorry! My bad!" He caressed the wheel, sweat beading on his forehead. The engine rumbled unevenly. It almost sounded like laughter. He ignored that too. He was getting good at ignoring stuff.
Thrilled the test was finished – and he could finally get out of 'Christine' here – Austin started pulling forward. Carl flagged him down.
"Dude, there's a problem with the test … "
"No. No! It passed. I watched it."
"Well, yeah, technically. But look at the numbers." Carl waved a sheet of paper at him.
"Nuh-uh. I don't want to. I want to get out of this car."
"Okay, seriously, you're acting weird. Anyway. These numbers are jacked. Everything's a zero."
"But it passed?"
"Technically, I guess, yeah. But no car reads zero across the board. That's cleaner than the air we're breathing. It's like this thing doesn't have emissions."
"Huh," Austin nodded. "Let's think about it this way; if a car is above a certain score in any of the areas, it fails. Right?"
"Yeah, but look, there are no scores!"
"But it's below the maximum, yes?"
"Yeah, but- "
"No 'buts.' It's below what it needs, it passes. End of story. I'm done." Austin waved his co-worker away. Once clear, he eased the Camaro forward. He leapt out as soon he'd turned off the ignition. Done, he was done finally!
The kid was waiting for him. Austin twitched involuntarily.
"Ah! I-I mean, here you go Mr. Wackichy. Have a good day." Austin kept half an eye on the car.
"Witwicky. It's Wit-wic-ky."
"Okay, bye now." Austin retreated, not looking back. That didn't keep him from hearing the kid muttering to his car.
"Really, Bee? Five minutes, that's all they needed. Five minutes."
A boy talking to his car? Yep, that was something else to ignore. Ignorance is bliss. Rubbing his temples, he returned to the computers. Carl jogged up to him.
"Hey, I know you're 'in a mood,' but check out what's next in line." Carl pointed a thumb back over his shoulder.
"Nope, no more sports cars for me. You can have them all."
"Sweet! Anyway, it's not a sports car. It's a tripped out black pickup, a GMC Topkick."
Author's Note: This is the result of me thinking about Transformers too much, and waiting too long in line at the emissions place. This is not at all serious, or even accurate. I don't know anything about emissions, or how they test in California or Nevada or where ever Sam is now. I based all the testing proceedures on how it's done in Colorado, where I live. And brand new cars don't need the test, I know. There's all kinds of inaccuracies. I just wrote this for fun. I try to avoid OC's in fanfic, but this one is more funny from some poor average Joe's point of view. Songs used: Hit the Road Jack by Ray Charles; You're So Vain by Carly Simon; and Cold Hearted Snake by Paula Abdul.