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A Little Respect For Our
Older Cars
HUMOR by Matt Ottinger
Here’s the thing: I am poor. Fine. I made a conscious decision to live my life
this way last year when I left my old job (and dress code that required a tie,
mind you) in Indianapolis to become a sports editor for a newspaper in
Wyoming… or as my friends call it: Wy-the-f**k-oming? “Poor and happy is not a
bad way to live” was my mantra, and for the most part, that notion has held
true to form.
But those of us in this position are often forced to deal with irritating
minutia that their friends on Wall Street don’t have to (e.g. eating oatmeal
three times a day, saving on a cable bill by not having MTV -- thereby missing
Nick & Jessica’s latest exploits, and boasting a living room motif comprised
mainly of inflatable furniture -- “Hey, no forks near the couch, please!”).
Yet the one key area that our frugality is most prominent pertains to the
wonderful world of automobiles. As my “new” 1991 Blazer sits in the shop for
the third time since I bought it several months ago, I’m left with one cynical
sentiment: I HATE CARS.
Yeah I know, car lovers will give you a host of reasons why automobiles are
the world’s saviors: They get us around town; they make use of the oil for
which American soldiers die; they kill useless wildlife. All good points, but
frankly, I could take or leave Henry Ford’s supposedly wonderful
brainchildren.
First of all, let’s address this staring problem that people seem to have when
it comes to people in old cars. Look, I know the sounds emanating from my
vehicle’s engine are hardly pleasant. I’m aware that, yes, there is a hint of
a wobble in my car’s stride. And believe it or not, I’m very cognizant of the
fact that the horn sounds like Winnie the Pooh’s pal Eeyore getting a rectal
exam. But seriously, does that mean you need to stop whatever it is you’re
doing to ogle as I drive by? I’m just a person trying to get by in this world;
leave me be. Besides, if you’re so hell bent on staring at something, I’ve got
news for you: That’s what freaks are for.
And what about mechanics? Where do they come up with these preposterous
pricing schemes?
“Don’t get me wrong, Cletus, it’s not that I don’t want to dish out $25 for
every time you scratched your ass while my car was forced to watch -- because
I do -- but doesn’t that seem a little steep?”
Not to mention the sound system. I often hear people ask: “Why do they still
sell cassette tapes?” I’ll tell you why. It’s because of us. And as sad as it
is, I for one have come to cherish the bargains. When I can buy used greatest
hits compilations of Whitesnake, Night Ranger, and Tesla, all for under $5, I
go to sleep smiling. And that makes me loathe myself.
And how ‘bout those heating systems?
Here’s a choice moment that I experienced last year, honest to God. It’s the
coldest day of winter, and I’m driving to work. I turn the defroster on high
and commence barreling down the highway. Then, “BOOM!,” the windshield cracks.
Nothing hit it. Not a rock, not a cat, not even a lonely drifter. It just
cracked. That’s not going to work for me.
Perhaps the only pleasant thing about older autos is that they allow you to
put MacGyver to shame, glorifying household objects in the process. For
instance, despite what Joan Crawford’s character in “Mommie Dearest” would
have you believe, wire hangers are NOT only to be used for beating adopted
children. They also make for an opportune muffler mount when the going gets
tough.
All told, I’ve got to say that an undependable car is like an undependable
woman. Albeit not quite as expensive to keep around, it’s a nuisance
nonetheless. My abhorrence of vehicles, combined with my utter disdain toward
computers, has warranted many a friend to compare me to a wayward Amish man --
unprepared for the future.
But what exactly does the future have in store for the automobile industry,
anyway? Billy Joel cars (that actually drive for you)? Hybrid cars? Inbred
cars?
To tell you the truth, I don’t really care.
If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll hoof it from here. |
