I’ve driven the same car for the past thirteen years of my life. We were committed. We were like one. And now, she’s gone. Those that are interested in such things should know that she made it all the way up Portage Path (notorious twisty inverted street that it is) to Highland Square, slid into a parking spot and died. Truly a worthy steed whose loyalty will be missed mightily.
Onward.
It must be said that used car lots are a lot like personal ads. You peruse the list of stats and pictures, keeping in mind that all these cars were abandoned for a reason. It’s just a matter of whether or not it’s a reason you can live with. You walk down aisle after aisle of lined up available with the sales-guy, a modern day Yenta trailing behind asking you what you’re looking for.
My Dad had come with me for consultation purposes but had been strangely quiet up until this point. He piped up with: “That cavalier had no air conditioning, hand-crank windows, a tape deck and speakers you have to kick to get started—anything is a step up.”
“It’s unkind to speak ill of the dead,” I said.
I turned to Yenta and informed him that I was looking for basically the same things I’m looking for elsewhere. Low maintenance, comfortable with a nice face.
What’s that? –you say. Cars don’t have faces. Oh, but they do.
Take for instance, the Pontiac G6:
“I feast merrily on the bones of small children”
The Chevy Malibu:
“Hey there, loverboy. I’m not much but I’m cheap.”
**promising, but unfortunately for used cars, what you smell is what you keep. And this particular filly smelled of gym socks soaked in formaldehyde.
the Mercury Milan:
“You bore me with your intellectual ineptitude”
or My Dearly Departed
“I’m a delightful rabbit who just had eleven consecutive orgasms. Jealous?”
…surely you conceed that first impressions are important.
I eventually decided on a Toyota Camry.
A somewhat ambiguous expression, to be sure. A friendly-ish bulldog who is just the slightest bit peeved? Perhaps determined. I’ll go with that. I admit that I’m a bit smitten with its sound system and ability to get up hills with the slightest of gas pressure. Not so thrilled by the fact that it’s so common of both species and color that i lose it constantly in parking lots. Good thing it has that automatic panic button. (Though, I suspect local business patrons begin to get annoyed with my methods.)
All in all, it’s still new. For instance, when a family friend asked me how my car was, I replied: “oh, she died.” Those at the table who knew of Toyota choked on their pita bread.
“Oh, you mean the Toyota…Oh, it’s fine.” The car lacks both name and gender at this point.
“THAT is your car…”
“No it’s not. We’re just dating. I’m not married to it.”
You have a lot to live up to, you Japanese wildebeest…
RIP
1996 – 2009
through highschool, college, abandoned for Europe and reclaimed…you hung together with love and rust. My eternal gratitude.
