You have to understand, cars and me have a history. I grew up with parents who could only afford second (or third-, fourth- or fifth-hand) cars, so I can remember us going on "vacation" to visit my grandparents in LA in 1959 VW bus (when it way past 1959) that did not have enough power to make it over a slight hill, let alone the Grapevine Mountains. We kids use to rock back and forth in our seats, convinced this would help the car strain to the top.
As an adult, I blew a head gasket on the way to my very first booksigning, which meant I got to meet a tow-truck driver so hopped up on meth that he had been awake for three days straight. His dash was covered with stickers and signs that said things like "Ripe and ready to eat" and "Don't hold my ears, I know what I'm doing." I tried to bond with him so he would only rape me and not rape me and then kill me.
There have also been break downs by the side of the road, dangerously overheated cars that left me running the heat at full blast on 105 degree days, fender benders, the time I was forced to run over a bouncing barrel on the freeway, etc.
So I easily become convinced that something is wrong with my car. The steering, I'm sure, has probably failed. There's a funny smell from the engine compartment, the defrost has stopped working, the car makes an extra cough and shudder when starting, the brakes are waaaay too slow to grab. Sometimes I'm right, usually I'm wrong. But when I think something's wrong with my car, I lose all perspective. It's like I'm one step away from curling in a ball and whimpering.
So I headed to Dan's Subaru. And of course, once Bruce from Dan's was behind the wheel, there was no funny sound. None. It ran like a top.
What freaks you out past all logic?