car detailSeptember 11, 2007
[Editor’s note: scrap the first edition of this junk post]
C meanders about genderization and anthropomorphization of vehicles, which I completely disdain. I’ve never owned a vehicle with any sort of mild sense of gender or sense of self. Hell, my last car didn’t even have a personality. It just, one day after fifteen long years of mild highway use and occasional roadtripping, got the rickets and kicked over. It was a Buick, and never crossed the 100,000 mile mark. A life lived poorly.
Actually, now that I think about it, I didn’t even bother to take it to the doctor. Great, now I feel like I shot a horse with a bum leg before I ever tried a band-aid. Got a paper cut? That’s too bad; get the injection kit, will ya?
The car-now-deceased was only vaguely female, but it was a Skylark, so take that for what it’s worth. It only ever harbored the best in bumper-sticker paraphernalia: “I think, therefore, I’m dangerous.” (Tide Logo) “Doubt, against even your toughest claims!” Then were the couple of Kappa Kappa Psi stickers, which will be replaced shortly. I’ve got my life member decal that I need to put on the new car, though I don’t know if the tint is going to work out so well with the graphic.
New car? Yes! Shiny and silver! Pretty! Super hyper cool! You break you buy! It wasn’t love at first sight, but it sure was love at convenience, because I had no car, and this one seemed to be sexy enough and not terrible on the pocket book. It’s a Ford Escape, and its not bad. I think the gas mileage is going to be a bit…inconvenient, but what relationship doesn’t have its problems? It’s an SUV, and I swore I’d never date an SUV, but I’m not convinced I’m doing that badly over my other car’s gas mileage. In fact, I could be doing much better! But, being the anti-corporation, green-minded, eco-conscious pagan that I am (laugh) I’m surprised at myself anyway, and am wondering when the surprise will turn to doubt, and then guilt. Guilt leads to trade-ins. Trade-ins lead to Japanese models. Japanese models lead to the dark side. I can feel my soul reeling already.
No decor just yet, other than my graduation tassel, which is pink. It’s the only pink thing I own. An escape is an effeminate SUV. It’s a soccer mom SUV. It is not a sexy hunky twenty-something SUV, but it appeals to my pretty sentiments, so it will do nicely. But that damn pink tassel, proud as I am for what it is, and what it means to me, is the only non-standard option in the vehicle, and I’m sure everyone thinks its a girl’s car. Or maybe its a girl car. Girls like pink, right? I forget…
One day, I pondered briefly on a name, just in case I decided the car needed one, or I was suddenly bounced in the head with a ball-pinned hammer and felt the need to collect inanimate “friends,” I would be prepared. The only thing that came to mind? Escapé.