Life In The Fast Lane

Day 25: A First

In the days (O.K.,years) leading up to my 16th birthday, I had grandiose ideas of what my first vehicle would be. My parents had already said they would be purchasing it. I figured I'd help them out and narrow down the choices for them.

My number one choice was a small pick-up. I was willing to settle for this:

I wasn't being unreasonable. Any color would have been acceptable.

My dad said that it wasn't practical for girls to drive pick-ups (Hello, beginning of feminism!) and my mom said the trackers were top heavy and prone to wreakage and deaths, or some such nonsense. The fact that my grandparents own a towing and recovery service had no bearing on those decisions, I am sure.

Next on my list was this:


I would have really liked an orangish or rust colored red. My aunt had an orange one that I coveted. She used to let me drive take me for rides in the country. It was a stick-shift.

Two problems with that scenario:
A) My dad worked for General Motors. My mom said it was disrespectful to get a foreign made car with American- made money. She had a good point. Of course, we are talking about the early 90s. These were the good old days when Walmart only sold products made in the USA.

2) This is a foreign car. Which means that the parts are foreign. Which means the bolts and such are metric. Which leads us back to point A. He only had standard measure tools. Not to mention, because of the foreign-ess of said car, parts would be harder to come by. There was one place like an hour from where we lived. The other was in Pennsylvania.

So here is what I ultimately ended up with:

A 1980 Chevrolet Chevette.

(I know you are jealous.)

Only it wasn't this color. Think more along these lines:
I couldn't have hidden in the crowd even if I wanted to. And to this day I have yet to see that color in nature or another car for that matter.

Here's how the Sweet 16 went down:

• Got my permit in '89.
• They bought my car in the summer of '90.
• I turned 16 in November of that year. C
  
• I was finally allowed to get my license in JULY of '91.

(I still, to this day, don't know what the reasoning to that was.)

Once I was finally let loose in my 'Vette, my parents slapped a bumper sticker that read:

If you don't like how I am driving, please call my parents at:
(317) XXX-XXXX

This guy I was dating for about ten minutes actually did me a favor and "stole" it.

With the beginning of my first car became the beginning of other firsts:

• car accident that I was both guilty and innocent of. (middle car of a three-car accident)
• first trip to the ER with lights on
• first break-in. The losers LEFT all my loose change but stole my collections of these:

Yeah, I had these in the car. I was called Smurfette, after all.

And because I worked at Hardee's, I also had this:




It was a regular crime wave.

In the end, my relationship with my Smurfmobile was short-lived. After another tiny accident, I believe the car was considered "totaled," and I moved on to greener pastures.

Or red, rather.

My uncle bought the car for a few bucks and drove it for a long time. He completely totaled it, stripped the insides out and used it like a truck and eventually traded it for some tile work.

He called her, Timex.

They don't make 'em like that anymore.