A couple weeks ago, my dad sold the Civic out from under me. In the most conniving way possible, by refusing to help me get it to the point where it would pass inspection. The tires were worn too much and needed to be replaced, and the edge of the driver's seat belt needed to be trimmed and re-fused since it was fraying. Plus maybe brake pads, I dunno.
My complaints about the Toyota still go in one ear and out the other. I haven't driven anywhere since the day the Civic was sold, because I refuse to drive that death trap so long as it has its terrible combination of floaty suspension and incredibly stiff brake pedal. Front wheel drive cars already understeer enough as-is, the floaty suspension makes that worse by lengthening weight-shift time, and the nearly digital brake pedal exacerbates things by making it too easy to brake too much.
The rear view mirror, while present, is totally busted and can't be adjusted at all. If you try, it just falls back to wherever it wants to be, which is hardly a useful position.
Also, the gas pedal is there, obviously, because when I push it down the car goes, but I can't feel it underneath my foot. It offers no resistance at all.
I feel as though all of these are valid concerns that deserve consideration, but the only response I've gotten is "you'll just have to get used to it". My mom agrees with me about the rear view mirror, but there's been zero actual progress, so merely agreeing with me isn't really helping. Because they're terrible people, they assume that I intend to sit around while my dad does all this work. While I do feel as though part of getting rid of the Civic should have involved addressing these concerns so the transition would be a smooth one, never once have I refused to help.
The thing is, my parents expect me to be psychic. If one of them is doing something and they'd really like my help with it, I'm somehow just supposed to know they want my help. You know, while I'm in a completely separate part of the house. They make zero attempt to communicate these desires for assistance with me, and somehow I'm to blame for not helping. Because of this, I "don't do anything around the house". I actually started keeping track of everything I did around the house on a daily basis at one point, but when I revealed I was doing so, I was told that doing this was "childish".
Fuck my life.
