Vancouver’s intersection of Main Street and Terminal Avenue is a busy one, even when the rest of the city is experiencing little traffic.

Serving as a hub for passenger cars, commercial vehicles, public transit, pedestrians and cyclists, this intersection is an integral component to the smooth ebb and flow of the city’s daily commute. A stall or a collision at or near this intersection has the potential to tie up traffic for hours and backlog feeder routes.

So you can imagine how I felt when, several years ago, my old beater of a station wagon stalled while waiting in one of the intersection’s left-hand turn lanes. That old car and I had an uneasy relationship, which directly correlated with the fact I had shelled out more for one year’s insurance than I did to purchase that pile of scrap.

It was long and sleek, its aged gun-metal blue exterior rivalled only by its matching interior. And, if you consider the 1987 Chevrolet Celebrity station wagon was touted as the protégé of America’s best-selling car in 1986 (the sedan version), I should have been honoured to own such a piece of history. Instead, I was cursing the day I ever laid eyes on it, when, after waiting for our turn light to go green, my car’s ‘go’ got up and went.

I remember the sinking feeling in my gut and being mortified that I was about to become the reason behind an epic traffic stall. I remember putting the hazard lights on, popping the hood up and waving other cars around, all the while with a cellphone pressed to my ear in a frantic attempt to get immediate roadside assistance.

I remember standing on the wide, grassy centre median with other drivers passing me with disgusted looks on their faces – it got so bad that I finally slunk back to the driver’s seat and hunkered down, praying no one from work would see me.

The low point happened when another driver – a woman my mother’s age – got behind me and, after failing to notice my car’s hazards or raised hood, screamed a litany of profanities in my general direction.

Luckily, the high point in all this occurred seconds later, when a nearby road crew took pity and asked if I needed a hand. I gratefully accepted their offer.

I only wish I had had a camera on me, as the road crew, lead by a flag girl waving her stop sign like a parade marshal, pushed me and my car through the intersection and into the parking lot on the south/west corner where I could wait for roadside assistance in relative peace. The only thing missing was a marching band, and maybe an elephant or two (in the corner, of course).

I sold that car for parts not long after, knowing I would never, ever again purchase another vehicle less than a couple of years old.