The Maserati and I have fallen on some hard times. First, someone in a grocery store parking lot backed into me. It was entirely his fault, and he was kind enough to say so. If you wanted a nice pictorial definition of the word “ashen,” his face upon seeing just what he had hit would do nicely. The front grill and trident logo were crunched, and the front end piece was pretty badly scratched.
Then I took her in for her 18K mile service. (I have had the car almost exactly a year, and yes, I drive that much.) The service itself is pretty steep, but then I found out I need the clutch entirely replaced and all-new rear brakes. The repairs will take over two weeks, and I will be shelling out a small fortune to do something I will likely have to do next year as well. Turns out Maserati doesn’t really design these things for stop-and-go city driving. Some of their clutches are burning out even faster. And please don’t write to tell me I am driving it wrong. It’s an automatic — actually a computer-controlled manual — and the operator has little to do with it. And if you must write to tell me that I am getting what I deserve for being a high-living consumerist, well… Fine.