I'd like to try something with the Vingle community, and have us share some stories about our first cars. See, I moved to New York City and don't drive anymore. And I was feeling a bit nostalgic today as I nearly took a header in to the Uptown 2 Train at Sterling street. And only for a fleeting second, did I miss my first and only automobile: THE BEAST. So I'd love to hear your accounts, descriptions and funny stories about your first car. Here's mine:
I'm going to put you in my shoes for a second and show you what it feels like to drive The Beast, a legend of it's time. The true, shameless, rolling, death trap I drove for 8 years, and still exists in my parent's driveway. This tale is not for the faint of heart. Brace yourself:
It's a balmy day in August and you're driving down an Ohio highway, US 77, a straight shot to nowhere. Nothing but corn, forgotten cheese shops and other wayward souls trying to vacate wherever they came from. You're on your way back to Ohio University, the number one party school in the country. In the car is everything you need for a year of college, and suddenly you slam on the breaks as a wiry, svelt woodchuck goes crawling across the four lane hell-scape. You're driving a 2004 Chevrolet Venture minivan. It has all the modern conveniences: windows that have to be pushed and pulled up by only your hands, your favorite Green Day CD stuck in the player, burnt out dashboard lights, a sticky transmission that barely works whenever going up hills and a sick interior stained by mulling little kids from years ago. Your dad picked it up when your family moved from Michigan to Ohio and your mother always hated it. She got a new car and you were just thankful to have something to drive. Anything. Your friends made fun of you because their cars were shiny and new, but you didn't care. It was yours. And lots of other people didn't even have that. You're flying down the highway and the humid Ohio air is thick in the car as the windows rattle and shake in the wake of the wind. Something's stopping you though...you feel a lot of drag...more than usual and you turn around. HOLY SHIT THE BUMPER IS FLYING OFF THE BACK OF THE CAR.
You can see the plastic monstrosity flapping in the side mirrors and haul ass to the shoulder, where you exit the car cautiously, and realize that the bumper is a full 100 yards back, in the middle of the near-deserted highway. You've got to make a run for it...because without the bumper you really look like you're driving a death-trap. You're about to run into the middle of an actual highway. You may get killed. You could die, but you decide it's worth the risk and tip-toe like a Gonzo cartoon out onto the highway. It looks clear, and by some miracle of God, the bumper hasn't been run over yet. You cross yourself and pray, "Dear, lord, baby, Jesus please grant me the serenity to get across this God Damn highway and save this bumper of this God Damn car....sorry about the swearing." And you jet out...into the middle of a highway to get your forlorn bumper...out in the ether. You retrieve it and drag it haphazardly back to the shoulder and let out a labored breath. The end is nigh. This car will kill you.
You shove it into the back of the mini-van and slam the hatch shut, catching one of your rediculously loud, printed shirts in the hatch. You say "fuck it" and just drive away. Except the transmission is sticking, so you have to ease back and fourth off the gas pedal as you ease back on to the highway like a sheep. The car kind of looks like a sheep actually...white and fat...barreling down the highway at a top speed of 80 before overheating.
You pull into the rocky driveway of your over-priced apartment in Athens, Ohio and the mother-fucker dies. Like jumper cable, call in the car doctor, dies. Right as you get home. Thank God it was only the bumper and not the battery on the highway.
You sit down, and your friend snaps a photo of your sad little face, asolutely flabberghasted that you're still alive after the ordeal. Seconds later you laugh, because you didn't die on the highway, and you're the proud owner of a shambolic masterpiece of a car. Because damn it, your first car is THE BEAST.