My Pimped-Out Ride

As I type this, it's about 98 degrees outside. I bet you think it would be horrible to have a car with no air conditioning, don't you?

How about if it also has vinyl seats?

My car has semi-working air conditioning (which is to say that it works, but you can't use it because it will make the engine stall out, so that you find yourself suddenly coasting along in traffic with no power brakes or power steering) and, mercifully, fabric upholstery.

But today I got to thinking about the first car I can remember, which was my mom's 1967 VW Fastback, an odd shade of either blackish-green or possibly greenish-black. What I really liked about it was the way the white vinyl upholstery left waffle patterns deeply imprinted on the backs of my thighs on even the briefest of car trips. I thought that was so cool. They just don't make them like that anymore.

I remember that one day in traffic, Mom pointed out a restored antique car to me, and told me that if we hung onto our little VW long enough, one day it would be an antique too. I remember being completely mystified at the idea of the car's body gradually morphing and reshaping into something cool and old-timey looking. Well, if Mom said so.

These forces are apparently already at work on my 1992 VW Golf, which is seafoam green with a nicely contrasting white hood from the time about seven years ago when my husband thought it would be a nifty idea to rear-end a Blazer. It's our emergency backup car and I almost never drive it, since I walk to work; and my apartment complex has such limited parking that they can only accommodate one car per unit, so I leave it in the parking lot at work for weeks or months on end.

But it seems to have achieved a certain mystique, to the point that when some friends and I went to lunch today, they all got really excited that I was driving.

My car doesn't have a whole lot besides character; but it's got that in spades. It's missing a few cosmetic touches like a headliner, the passenger side mirror, and a reasonable amount of its paint; but it drives pretty well, gets good gas mileage, and appears to be more or less reliable. It's got an oil leak in there somewhere, so that whenever you start it up, a gigantic white cloud emerges from the tailpipe and blocks out the sun; and I always find myself anxiously looking around after the smoke clears to see if there are any dead or twitching birds or state employees scattered about nearby on the pavement. One time I glanced back over my shoulder just in time to see that the car had blown two perfect smoke rings, drifting lazily away across the parking lot. You have to admit, that's a pretty cool car.

Oh, and also the reverse lights don't work.

I have the will-never-be-able-to-afford-a-new-car person's value for an automobile with personality, figuring, if you can't have all your friends drooling over your flashy new ride, at least you can make them laugh. Mine couldn't seem to stop laughing from the moment we piled in and cranked down the windows, which screeched like a quartet of banshees, until we arrived at the restaurant; and it didn't help when one asked me how he was supposed to lock the car with the lock mechanism missing, and I pointed out it was all right as the door didn't have a handle on the outside anyway.

When we got back to the office (exactly one hour, on the nose, from the time that we left), another of our coworkers was also returning from her lunch and exclaimed in amazement, "Oh my gosh, your car is working!"

See? It's really easy to impress people if you set their expectations low enough.

Mom sold our VW Fastback in 1980 to a college student who wanted it for parts. We all cried. I don't think my Golf is going anywhere for a while (literally, I might not drive it again for three months!), but when we do say farewell I'm sure it will be very sad.

Then again, who knows? Maybe if I leave it parked at work long enough, it'll gradually morph into a collector's item and I'll be able to sell it for a small fortune.