Rosie the Riveter is known as America’s iconic working woman, but in my family, that's the name of our dented 2002 suburban. We bought Rosie with a massive dent on her front right side. Most people don’t jump at the opportunity of a dented car, but my family didn’t seem to care. Like my dad always says, “A dent is just a discount.” If someone saw Rosie, they would probably say she looks like a hunk of junk, and don’t get me wrong, they are right. She is past her prime, but what they can’t see is the places, that ‘hunk of junk’ has been. Rosie has traveled over 280,000 miles. For reference, Rosie could have traveled across the United States, from coast to coast, exactly 93 times. She also could have gone around the circumference of the moon approximately 42 times. Rosie has gained these miles by being our ‘dependable’ transportation.
In 2014, Rosie brought our family on our first westbound road trip. The plan was to make it to Yellowstone. I remember waking up to see the Rocky Mountains. Rosie’s huge engine could handle every challenge we faced. With ease, Rosie scaled the mountain roads; she was truly living up to her name, so far. The Rocky Mountains were stunning in comparison to the rolling hills of Wisconsin. But, with every high, there comes a low. As we made it down the mountain my sister plugged her laptop into the outlet and almost instantly, Rosie’s electricity went blank. This meant that we didn't have a radio, the gas gage, or the speedometer. This called for my dad stopping at a gas station every hour to full up, and he had to guess how fast the car was going, the whole trip.
On the way back from Yellowstone we decided to have a quick 30-minute stop at Mount Rushmore. Well, that quick stop ended up being about eight hours. That was, of course, because of our fantastic Rosie the Riveter. After exploring the museum and looking at the carefully carved faces, we made it back to the car. We stumble into the car ready for our next adventure, but Rosie wasn’t ready.
After about five hours of my dad under the hood, acting as though he knew what he was doing, we told a park ranger about our situation. The park rangers were nice enough; although they did make us wait another three hours until they decided to help us out. At about one a.m., a park ranger rolled up with a massive truck. I remember him opening the door to reveal three of the biggest shotguns I’ve ever seen, in the backseat. I remember being shocked by the size of the guns, but despite my concerns, my sisters forced me to sit the closest to the weapons. If the ranger saw my expression, he didn’t acknowledge it, instead, he made conversation with my dad about our trip. The park ranger plopped us down at the nearest KOA, about a ten-minute drive from the monument.
In the morning, Rosie was towed to the nearest auto shop, where she was diagnosed with a faulty starter. The mechanics were able to start Rosie but advised us to rent a car to travel home. Since Rosie’s electricity was still out, and the starter was unpredictable, it made sense to not drive the car home. When a certified mechanic tells you to not trust the car, most people would take that as law. Not my family. My dad decided that it was our mission to get back home without turning off the car. That meant that we had to fill up on gas with the engine running, and my dad had to guesstimate on the speed and gas gauge the whole ride back. Luckily, we made it the whole nine hours and 42 minutes, without any more complications. Rosie turned out to be not as reliable as we thought. After a few days in the shop, Rosie got right back up again.
About a year later, my eldest sister was preparing for a trip to Paris, France. We live about two hours from the airport, and her flight was at 10:00 a.m. My whole family got up at 5:00 a.m. because my dad believes one must be at least three hours early for a flight. At about six we took off in Rosie for the airport. On the freeway, my dad noticed that Rosie needed gas, so we locate the nearest gas station. As my dad pulled into the gas station, he realized that it was closed. He turned the wheel in an attempt to get back onto the road. All of a sudden, I heard a huge crunch, and the whole car crushed to the right. We all rushed out of the car, to find Rosie’s wheel completely off the axel. It was already eight o’clock, at this point and it was still about a 40-minute drive to the airport. For once my dad knew this was far out of his range of mechanic abilities, so we called a tow truck right away. We called a taxi to drive us to the airport, and she made it on time despite Rosie’s attempted delay. We ended up having my Grandma drive us home from the airport, and Rosie was back in action the next week.
Rosie always seemed to spoil my family’s fun, but after this next story, I swear she's only out to get me. In 7th grade, I decided I was old enough to have my first boyfriend. Being only 13 years old, however, the only option to go on a date was to have a chaperone. It wasn’t my wisest moment when I asked my dad to chaperone. Especially when he decided on driving our oldest car, Rosie the Riveter. As we rambled up his driveway, I decided to join him in the back so it wouldn’t be as awkward. Little did I know my sister had broken the buckle of one of Rosie’s back seats. I saw my date struggle with his buckle, and I realized that it was broken. When I came to this conclusion I climbed back into the front seat and told my date that he’d have to switch to the other back seat, which was directly behind me. Since my date was directly behind me, I awkwardly talked over my shoulder in an attempt to fill the silence.
It should be noted that Rosie's air conditioning was not working at this time, so all four windows were completely down. A couple of minutes into the drive, it abruptly began to pour cats and dogs. On reflex, my dad rolled up the windows. All but one window closed. My dad’s window gets stuck. He scrambled for protection as he got pelted by the bullets of raindrops. He finally managed to worm out of his jacket, which he used as a shield from the storm. After a moment of struggling to hold the jacket up and drive, he gave up and took the beating Rosie had bestowed upon him. At that point, it seemed that the situation couldn’t get worse, but it did. With the storm raging, the windshield wipers were frantically moving side to side, and out of nowhere, the right wiper flings off. What was left of the windshield wiper scraped against the windshield, making an ear-aching noise and leaving a huge gash. Overwhelmed my dad pulled over to calm the situation. My dad thought of a brilliant solution to take off his sock and put it on the windshield wiper.
We got back on the road as if nothing happened. Right when the movie theater came into view, the storm cleared up and of course, my dad's window rolls right up, as if there was no problem to start with. I have a vivid memory of my dad walking into the movie theater dripping from the spontaneous rainstorm and missing his left sock.
I now find the whole experience hilarious, yet at the moment it was utterly traumatic. That was the first and last date with my 7th-grade boyfriend. After reflection, I realize that Rosie may have been looking out for me. In a terribly cringy way, of course. She knew I was too young to have a boyfriend and she showed me by breaking down.
Rosie the Riveter has been retired from our long-distance family trips. That doesn’t mean that we don’t drive her. Rosie has been demoted from mom’s adventurous automobile to dad’s commuter car. Even with a less glamorous title Rosie still has her misadventures. Over the last few years, Rosie has had a smashed-up window from a mishap with the lawn mower, and another smashed up window from an unknown vandal. She has been to the shop at least 20 times, in the last two years, with multiple different problems. Yet she can still haul our 10,000-pound trailer. Despite Rosie’s breakdowns, she is resilient. Like everyone, Rosie had some major low points, but with some help, she got right back up again. I believe everyone can learn from Rosie, whether it’s from her persistence, or her willingness to admit when she needs help.