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by D. Cashon Klein
I'm officially cool. Not that driving a
'92 Honda Accord with 450,000 miles on it wasn't cool. It was, in
a "reverse snob" kinda way. It was the ultimate punk car with rear
windows caulked shut, faded paint, and copper wire antennae. It had
attitude as it bucked down the road.
The car supposedly had a brand new
transmission...at least it COST the same as a brand new
transmission. The nationally known transmission place assured me it
was. I got to know those guys pretty well because of my frequent
visits to "make it right." I suspect the "new" transmission
consisted of duct tape, staples, and a few private winks among the
boys.
But she was a good car. The ex boyfriend
bought her for me several years ago when she had only 340,000 miles
on her. The windows and antennae still worked in those days, but
not much else. The car was a constant worry to my Dad. "How's the
car running?" That was his greeting when I'd go to see him, not
"Hi Deb," but "How's the car running?" After he died, Mom greeted
me the same way, and SHE had Alzheimer's. I always assured them it
was running fine.... except for (fill in the blanks).
It never bothered me to climb out of that
car in public. I've always enjoyed thumbing my nose at prosperity,
but I think the bumming of rides wore thin on my friends and
co-workers when the car was in the shop. I didn't thumb my nose at
them. It's not appropriate to thumb the hands that drive you.
My folks sent me a check from heaven and
said, "For God's sake, please get a reliable car...please!"
And so I did. My sister-in-law Rachel took
up the cause. She is a world-renowned haggler and protector against
sleazy salesmen. She actually researches things and knows a bunch
of laws and stuff. No internet site is too complex for her, no
salesman too repulsive.
Rachel found the car of my dreams. There
was only one man who almost lost his life in the transaction. We
finalized the deal. I climbed into my car, the car I've always
pictured myself in for as long as I can remember, the car of the
"Truly Cool." A car that can always be identified in this age of
cars that all pretty much blend together, with the exception of
Hummers, and who in their right mind...?
I'm in a Beetle now.
It's not brand new. That would be too
decadent for me and not fiscally responsible. But DANG. It's shiny
and new to ME. My bug is a "creamsicle," hard top sedan. It has
AIR, a CD player and air-bags all over the place! (Hear that Dad?)
I'm still driving on the tank of gas I drove off the lot with
three weeks ago! It has all kinds of gizmos and car windows that
work! It has a place to keep my sunglasses! I immediately ordered
an eighteen-inch, die-cut peace symbol magnet for the back.
I am waaaaaay too cool for school.
One thing bothered me as I drove it home.
I expected throngs of people to rush to the side of the road and
applaud as they held up signs that said WAY TO GO DEB!!! I expected
people to stare at this incredible vehicle when I sat at lights. No
one seemed to notice. I found that pretty unbelievable.
The disturbing aspect of the Beetle is his
personality. Bailey, (yes, of COURSE he has a name), likes to go to
certain places that are not my usual places. He immediately swerved
into a Starbucks for a green tea frappucinno. Then he careened into
the Fresh Market to snuggle next to the Saabs. I felt compelled to
spend a hundred bucks on food I can't pronounce. He took me to a
fancy restaurant on Wednesday night.
He behaves like a yuppie. It's
disturbing. But there are definite hippie aspects of his
personality as well. He likes to go slowly in front of expensive
cars sporting McCain stickers. Somehow, I've been added to a
rich-people mailing list. I get J.Jill and Horchow collection
catalogues.
But I also get New Earth, the catalog with
the peace sign magnets. I've received dinner invitations for
seminars that are supposed to advise me how to invest money. What
money? Is this because of Bailey? Does he call these people and tip
them off? I have to rein him in a little. I don't wear
sixty-dollar shoes and I don't have a cell phone or an MP3 player,
though Bailey is fully equipped for these amenities.
Tonight, when I wax him again, we'll have
a chat about humility and the evils of excess.
Debbie Cashon Klein is a Safety Harbor
resident.
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