awww. init it cyooot?Last night I took my little independent self down to the vw dealership. As I was leaving work, J-lo says to me, �oh, that place is good. They try to sell themselves as chick-friendly.� Having heard some horror stories of alpha male car salesmen who won�t even look at a woman if they come in with a man to buy a car, I was relieved to find a smiling lady with large hair named Gladys ready to give me the tour. She had gold epaulettes on her padded power suit and spoke to me in affected Metairienian. �See this?� she asked as she held up what can only be described as a flat square processor panel attached to a cigarette lighter plug. �These come standard with all Volkswagen. You plug it in when you�re not going to drive the car for awhile & it charges the battery for you using solar energy.� Que? I thought to myself. That�s pretty handy. She inserted the trendy vw key into the ignition and the car turned over with an unsuccessful clicky sound. �Heh heh. As you can see, it would work if it were plugged in.� Embarrassed, she called for a jump to the car. Ah, irony. Subtract 500 dollars from asking price for dealership faux pas.
But once the car started, the drive was, howdoyousay, wunderbar, ausgeseitlich, einen AutoMenschen. The controls lit up our faces in a blue & red glow as I explained to Gladys that I had to take the car on a spin through my usual work drive. You see, unrelenting construction around the medical complex has resulted in a couple great gravel grooves being carved into the asphalt. The kind that make not only your car, but your teeth and other vital internal organs rattle as well. And also, an excellent test of shock absorption. The Jetta ate them for a snack and asked for more. Gladys regales me with all the bells and whistles: a defroster on the side windows, automatic lights on the mirrors, an escape handle inside the trunk, speakers on the doors, a valet key to protect your stuff from grubby parking attendants, and on and on and on. I realize that I�d been using the RPM gauge as my odometer (damn hypno-lights!), and slow down to a saner speed.
By the end of it, I was ready to join the Volks-cult. Gladys tries to convince me to �drive it home for the night�, as I envision the myriad of catastrophes involved with that choice. Needless to say, ms. weez went home in ye olde tempo, cursing every backfire & transmission slip along the way. But tonight I shall return, to gaze upon the Baltic green 12-year-corrosion-warrantee paint job, inhale the intoxicating fumes of new car smell, and imagine the day when it will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.
New digs - 2004-05-25
Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10
Grumble - 2004-05-07
Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05
Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05
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