Clunkers

Image from here.

I'm not a car snob. I could care less. As long as it works. (Don't ask me how it works; I don't know.) There is one type of car I love though....

Old cars. Clunkers. At my age I no longer want one, but I love old cars. I'm not referring to vintage cars or collector cars. That hobby confuses me. I pine for cars that won't pass inspection, the ones that negatively affect the environment. They're rare now. Every time I encounter one roaring down the highway like a lawnmower it transports me to my high school/University days. Beaters. Love 'em.

My first car was a heap. My Dad bought several beaters for me (he was kind of a hoarder before hoarders had TV shows and mental health professionals). Never much more than $500, their engines were in decent condition, their bodies in need of reconstructive surgery or at least a serious make-over. I didn't care. (Cars today look like they're on botox.)

My first car was blue, a 1970s something-or-other barge of a car. (I'm can't remember makes and models; it's not my thing.) Rust bloomed here and there. Even the windshield wipers were gigantic. I could fit eight friends into that beast, easily. It had a hole in the interior ceiling. The trunk seemed just as large as the interior. No seat-belts. And it was puuuuuuure freedom.

My second car was red, a little newer but still from the wrong decade. Smaller but more rust-blooms. And an interior broiled by the sun on some used car lot until it cracked. Seats doubled as back-scratchers. The rear doors didn't often open. A year later, the rear door handles were ripped off after my friends simply pulled harder to open them, forgetting the handles were useless. Again, pure freedom and fun (especially when the girls had to crawl into the backseat).

My third car was brown. Again 4-door; again wrong decade. Once, at a party, a friend backed into it. I had left the party for a while to attend a different party so he couldn't locate me and confess so, concerned, he called me the next day. I had driven it home that night but didn't notice the dent. I told him not to worry about it. With all the rust, what difference would a dented door make?

Cars are so expensive now people are rabid about protecting them. I can't fault anyone for that. It's a big investment. I forget sometimes. Our vehicle is new and shiny and predictably reliable but still...it lacks personality. Where's the character?

Speaking of character, there's only one problem with those rust-heap, high rev clunkers I love. Nowadays pretty much only serial killers drive them.