The clunker you know

I dreamed I bought a used car from a stranger that wound up being a car that a co-worker had sold not that long ago. It was a 94 BMW coupe that had belonged to Jamison, aka Beavis, from YC Honda parts dept. Buying a used car is reason enough to be anxious and stressed, but when it is a clunker you know, it is the worst. I spent the whole dream asking Jamison about various problems with the car, and I never developed that sense of bonding that one has with their vehicle. 

I couldn't shake the feeling that I had bought somebody's sloppy thirds, and that I was inheriting a boatload of troubles that had been painted over, patched together or otherwise hidden from view. Every little noise or quirk and I was running to ask Jamison, "Hey, did it used to do this when you owned it?" I supposed that it was nice to have someone who was very familiar with the service history of the vehicle that I could ask about these things, but it was disconcerting to know that I had bought something that he'd deemed unfit continue to own. 

Upkeep on a Beamer is expensive even if it only needs oil changes, but since it had 351k on the odometer, somehow just skating by with the basics seemed less and less likely. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, certain that I'd be stuck with some outrageous repair costs. 

The'e ebe d-uh, that's all folks.