Ma'am, That Car Ain't No Mercedes
Authored by: ninjadonkey As a child, I had always dreamed that upon receipt of my driver's license I would also receive a car. Not a fancy car of course...just one with character and the ability to take myself and my friends on road trips to previously unexplored places and to make a quick get away from our high school campus. In spite of sound arguments in favor of this arrangement, my parents failed to see the obvious benefit and I was left to dream of the day I would be able to purchase my very own car.

I worked through college and in my first couple of years I managed to save $1000. Growing up in a state with fascist inspection laws, $1000 was certainly not enough to purchase a street legal, state inspection worthy car. Fortunately by this time I resided in the great auto-dependent state of Michigan where you are allowed to put damn near anything on the road as long as it has four wheels (tires optional) and can roll out of traffic when pushed.

With the assistance of my roommate Eric I began my quest to find the perfect car. I had decided that a Honda would best suit my needs since they seemed to run forever with minimal maintenance. Unfortunately, this very characteristic allows them to retain a high resale value and made Hondas that came complete with a running engine out of my price range.

This was the days before people really advertised on the internet, and so day after day I skimmed the local ads in the paper and took the bus and begged rides from friends to go and test drive potential candidates. I looked at ford wagons, geo metros, chrysler sebrings, and still more ford wagons. None of these cars felt quite right, and eventually I realized that I was brought up to believe "foreign cars and American trucks." I just could not trust my precious investment to Detriot and began to get frustrated.

One day, Eric came bounding home, told me to grab my checkbook, and threw me in the car. On the ride he told me he had driven by the perfect car for me and that we could negotiate to fit my budget. We drove out to the countryside of Ypsilanti (home of Kid Rock so you can get the flavor of its residents) and eventually pulled into a driveway. Sitting in the middle of the lawn was a rusty brick red Volkswagon Diesel Rabbit with a For Sale sign on it.

The owner came out sporting camoflouge pants and thick well groomed mustache. I supsect he and his wife are loyal viewers of the Ted Nugent family show, Kill it and Grill it. We began a friendly discussion about the car and learned that it actually had a twin that was round back of the house. The twin was not for sale however as it was being used as a generator for the pool.

We looked in the car. The seats were covered in a camouflage similar to that worn by the owner, and the top of the stick shift had been replaced with an 8 ball. Where the cigarette lighter had been was a NO SMOKING plug. The front of the car had hunting lights in addition to the headlights that all cars come with and the sides were covered in putty indicating the filling of massive rust holes. On the hood, where the VW symbol would normally be, some witty cad had slapped a mercedes symbol instead. It was whitetrash and I was in love.

The owner allowed us to take the car for a test drive. If you are not familiar with diesel engines, particularly old diesel engines, starting the car up can be an amusing process. The engine block has to be heated in order for the diesel to ignite and this requires the use of glow plugs (and often in the winter, physically plugging your car into a wall outlet). We pulled out the glow plug stick, waited patiently for the indicator light to be ready and revved up the engine. The engine sputtered a bit and eventually roared to life wiht the sounds and smells one recalls from the elementary school Blue Bird bus.

Eric drove (I hadn't actually learned how to drive a manual transmission yet but decided it was an important skill to have) and we powered the car up and down the country roads at a face past, slamming on the breaks, trying to pull the non-power steering wheel around enough to do donuts in the dirt. The car passed all the tests we could devise and on the way back we discussed our negotiation tactics.

The car was advertised for $1000, but after some smooth talking and some showing of my even smoother legs in a short skirt, we got the price down to $800. Ecstatic, Eric drove my new possession home and promised me driving lessons the very next day.

In the afternoon I solemnly prepared myself to learn the nuances of the manual transmission and followed Eric around like a starved puppy until we finally got into the car. It wouldnt start.
---
Six weeks later the auto parts store finally got the correct alternator and three days later I had finally taught myself how to put it in and make it work.

By this time I had actually learned how to drive the Rabbit and I proudly took it for its first oil change, after nearly learning the hard way that old cars may burn oil and bad things happen when they run out. As I pulled into the stall at Uncle Ed's Oil Shoppe the attendant looked at the hood of the car, then me, then the hood, then me again. I asked him if everything was ok. Looking confused he said "Ma'am, that car ain't no Mercedes."
There is 1 comment