In self’s case, yes.
Suddenly, am everybody’s good friend because have a car.
J only ever calls self out when she needs to buy something from the mall and on some pretext invites self out for lunch or tea but really is because am only one with a car. At least she makes up by treating self at those fancy schmancy commercialised coffee houses like Starbucks (chocolate cake that tastes so sinful).
Miss Lime, the shameless asker of favours, has roped self into fetching her to college for an early morning class because we’re both in the same class.
And of course, Ata the blind Iranian, who think just because am blessed with eyes that can (reasonably) see and a car, thinks am as road-savvy as the next taxi driver, and constantly asks self to drive him to places unknown. Bloody hell, am just offering self to help read books for you and the occasional grocery shopping, not being a personal chauffeur to the blind association or helping you registering for your Masters classes or registering your child’s birth.
Hate feeling so used.
So yes, have all these wonderful friends because of that sporty coupe of a car.
What would self do without you, Satria?