CAR TALK, PART II
Fortunately, I'm a sucker for creature comforts, and this car had 'em. Comfortable seats, an easy-to-use CD player and a cool retro look coaxed a Shakespearean turn from me: "What's in a name?" And after years of driving cars that had all the horsepower of sled team of harnessed chipmunks, I was thrilled to be driving a car that noticeably accelerated when I stepped on the gas pedal.
But what I liked best was the security the car offered. I liked the way the car would flash its lights to remind me where I had parked. I liked the way the doors automatically locked once I was in gear and driving. I liked having enough airbags around me that I could drive as recklessly as I wanted, and only other people would suffer for my folly.
So the car began to grow on me ... a little. After all, it was so accommodating that I began to wonder whether I might one day awaken with the car in my apartment, serving me breakfast in bed. But it only grew on me a little. At one point, a friend who was also driving a rental car suggested that she provide the transportation for an excursion. Nah, I said, let's settle who drives in the only way that two people driving rentals should: We'll meet in a parking lot and have our own private demolition derby; the car that survives is the one worthy of our use. (Naturally, there would be some explaining to do at the rental agency. But that's why we blame things on "those damn kids.")
The only real drawback appeared when people saw me driving the rental for the first time. Their initial response usually was "Oh, I love your new car! When did you get it?" But before I could answer, their faces would register a sudden reassessment and realization: "Wait, it's a rental, isn't it? What happened to your old car?" They might as well have just come out and said what they were really thinking: "Wait a minute! You? A new car? No way! You being able to afford a nice, new car has about all the symmetry of Paris Hilton slugging it out with a trailer park princess for $10 lingerie at the local Wal-Mart." It was depressing to learn that any sign of bourgeoisie prosperity on me was utterly preposterous to my friends.
But like many relationships, ours had to end. I could no longer afford the thrills of dating a much younger car, and its destiny was date other drivers. I had to find something more permanent, and I began to think I should get a stable, reliable car. Something Japanese and in a muted color. But memories of the rental and its swift acceleration were hard to shake. So I compromised. I got a Volvo ... a cathouse red, turbo Volvo (used, of course). We'll see how that works out.
Fortunately, I'm a sucker for creature comforts, and this car had 'em. Comfortable seats, an easy-to-use CD player and a cool retro look coaxed a Shakespearean turn from me: "What's in a name?" And after years of driving cars that had all the horsepower of sled team of harnessed chipmunks, I was thrilled to be driving a car that noticeably accelerated when I stepped on the gas pedal.
But what I liked best was the security the car offered. I liked the way the car would flash its lights to remind me where I had parked. I liked the way the doors automatically locked once I was in gear and driving. I liked having enough airbags around me that I could drive as recklessly as I wanted, and only other people would suffer for my folly.
So the car began to grow on me ... a little. After all, it was so accommodating that I began to wonder whether I might one day awaken with the car in my apartment, serving me breakfast in bed. But it only grew on me a little. At one point, a friend who was also driving a rental car suggested that she provide the transportation for an excursion. Nah, I said, let's settle who drives in the only way that two people driving rentals should: We'll meet in a parking lot and have our own private demolition derby; the car that survives is the one worthy of our use. (Naturally, there would be some explaining to do at the rental agency. But that's why we blame things on "those damn kids.")
The only real drawback appeared when people saw me driving the rental for the first time. Their initial response usually was "Oh, I love your new car! When did you get it?" But before I could answer, their faces would register a sudden reassessment and realization: "Wait, it's a rental, isn't it? What happened to your old car?" They might as well have just come out and said what they were really thinking: "Wait a minute! You? A new car? No way! You being able to afford a nice, new car has about all the symmetry of Paris Hilton slugging it out with a trailer park princess for $10 lingerie at the local Wal-Mart." It was depressing to learn that any sign of bourgeoisie prosperity on me was utterly preposterous to my friends.
But like many relationships, ours had to end. I could no longer afford the thrills of dating a much younger car, and its destiny was date other drivers. I had to find something more permanent, and I began to think I should get a stable, reliable car. Something Japanese and in a muted color. But memories of the rental and its swift acceleration were hard to shake. So I compromised. I got a Volvo ... a cathouse red, turbo Volvo (used, of course). We'll see how that works out.
posted by John Parnell at 9:29 AM
2 Comments:
I just realized that I read all your posts, but never comment.
I'm one of those lurker-type readers, who never show their appreciation, and those sites I frequent tend to end up with the authors resigning in disgust, "nobody loves me, nobody thinks I'm funny ..."
So, I'm showing my appreciation. Keep up the good work!
Anemone
Volvo cars are good. They last for ages. I’m sure you’d like using it. They surely have Volvo park light and airbag. Volvo parts from good dealers are really performing well. I would be glad to see your next post about how it worked.
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