I have the worst luck with cars. I can’t even remember how many cars I’ve gone through since I was sixteen. I’ve had purple, periwinkle, red, white and cars in almost every color. Most I have lost due to mechanical issues like our most recent loss a Dodge Dakota that decided to kick the bucket after we had already replaced the transmission.
To say the truck had seen better days is an understatement.
The front bumper was being held on with duct tape and zip ties. The headliner and visors were missing on the inside. That’s what made it special. We didn’t mind beating it up a little to reach the cool camping spots or hiking trails.
When we went to the dealership I had it in my mind to climb into a pickup truck like a Tacoma or a larger vehicle like an Armada. Have you seen the price tags on those vehicles? There I was walking down the dark pavement in ninety-degree weather and there I saw it—my black stallion. The Dodge Grand Caravan. If I have to be honest, I was thirsty, tired and the price was right at only $12,000. I wish I could re-enact Brian’s face when I stopped in front of this vehicle. It was like I was asking him to sit in a pile of elephant dung.
I humored him and sat in the Tacoma and in the Rav-4 that the salesman was trying to shove down our throats. I couldn’t get my mind off the space inside of the living room on wheels (I have two Viking sized children and 4 dogs—2 over 100 pounds).
I consider myself a very calm person, but there’s something that happens to me when I get behind the wheel of this van that didn’t happen with previous vehicles. My fiancé doesn’t like my driving now because he says that I scare him and that in turn scares me because he drives like a getaway professional on the daily.
I don’t feel like my driving warrants any concern, but I am often found offering colorful suggestions to other drivers. Sometimes my recommendations are offered with a finger, or a full hand combined with side eye. Other times I use creative language that would make Amara proud. Most reactions are surprise that someone driving a mini-van could exhibit so much passion for the road.
Am I having a power trip because I have a larger vehicle? It’s possible, but really I think it’s just another outlet for me to vent my frustrations. Is it healthy? Well, I’m no psychiatrist but it’s kind of the equivalent to me yelling into a pillow.
I wonder about the future and what technology cars will offer. In Marrying Mars, Billie has a run-in with a driverless car. I don’t know if I could exult as much passion if I’m frustrated with a machine, but then I think of the copier machine at my old office manager position and the rise that piece of junk could get out of me. I wonder if driverless cars will hog the merge lane, or take 50 years to make a right hand turn. Could I give up control and relax and read a book while allowing the car to get me from point A-B or would I be a backseat driver times infinity?