Guest Post: Speaking from the Wheel

Hi.

This is kind of hard to explain.

And hard to believe.

Chuck decided to sleep in today.  He went with me to the Adirondacks and back.  We had a great time.  Spent the night together, he and me.  He just got in this morning, and he’s all wiped out.

Poor guy.  He has no idea I’m writing this.  But see, everybody else on this blog community has guest writers.  So since he’s still dreaming about winning a million dollars in the lottery, I decided I’d let him sleep and I’d write his blog post for him.  I’m nice that way.

Even though I’ve only known Chuck a few months, I feel like he’s the best person I’ve ever been involved with.  Don’t tell anyone… but I think he enjoys spending more time with me than he does with anybody else.

Giggle.

We met about five months ago.  I was sitting outside DePaula Chevrolet, and he was walking around the used car lot.  He was muttering something about “I miss my Pontiac 6000, there’ll never be another car like it,” or something like that.

See, I like men who are dedicated to their cars.  A good General Motors man is hard to find.

I watched as he tried a couple of cars on the lot.  There was a Pontiac Grand Am, but it wouldn’t start – the battery was drained.  He looked at a Buick, but he didn’t seem comfortable with it.  Like the Buick was for another generation, not his.

Then he saw me.  A blue-green 2005 Saturn Ion four-door with about 60,000 miles.  Trust me, I don’t look a day over 30,000 miles.  Hee.

I’d been in a relationship before – some guy from Amsterdam who never wiped his feet before entering my driver’s side – but something about the way Chuck looked at me – well, I got the sense in my circuits that this could be a very long relationship.

We went out for a test drive.  He fiddled with my knobs – turned on my air conditioning and my windshield wipers and my radio.  A few days later, he took me home, just like a puppy from the humane society.  It felt good.  He even stopped along the way and filled my tank with premium.

Maybe a week after we got together, he took me to Canada.  Quebec City, a six-hour drive from Albany.  He found a Quebecois Top 40 radio station and was singing along with the tracks, or at least the songs he knew in English.  He’s not the greatest singer in the world – but at least he’s enjoying the music and it makes the trip more interesting.

We’ve driven a few places together – Boston, Halifax, New York City – sometimes it’s just good to get away.  A long drive can clear your head of all the stress in the world.  And any time he tests out one of my features – everything from the adjustable seat back to the cup holders to the keychain-activated lock and entry, when I hear him say, “My old car didn’t have this,” and he says “old car,” I know he’s getting attached to me…

He does have some annoying habits, though.  I don’t like to snitch, but if I don’t tell someone, who can I tell?

I’ve got so many radio stations for him to listen to, and all he ever chooses to hear is ESPN Radio, Fox Sports Radio, and NPR.  And that incessant Car Talk show.  Every time those guys laugh and snort at the same time, I get an itch in my radiator.  And when he listens to Yankees games, I think he just listens to the game just to say, as loud as he can, “Oh shut up John Sterling!  Give it a break, Suzyn Waldman! Both of you give me migraines!”

Every so often, I’ll try to change the station at the same time as he hits a pothole or a speed bump – and it’ll work for about three seconds, until he quickly changes the channel back.  Darn.  Just once, if he could put on FLY 92 so I can hear some Lady Gaga every hour on the hour…

And all that camera equipment he carries – there’s no room for any passengers, he’s got film cameras in the back seat and that Nikon camera of his in the front.  Sometimes I wonder if he’s going to put a lap belt on the cameras.  And realistically, how many diet sodas can one man drink?  He could balance the New York State budget with the 5-cent deposits from the empties he tosses under my glove box.

I will give him credit.  When it comes to maintenance, he’s top-notch.  Changed my oil right on schedule, and switched me from regular oil to a dura-blend synthetic.  Mmm that tastes so good.  He’s also made sure my lights and wipers are up to date, and – well – it’s almost as if he cares about me.  Sometimes I need that.  Cars have feelings, too.

Like a couple of months ago, I had a problem with one of my turn signals.  My previous owner would probably continue driving as if nothing was wrong, and roll down the window and stick his arm out like people used to do for turn signals 50 years ago.  Nope, Chuck ran me back over to DePaula, where Bobby and his team of technicians went to work on me in nothing flat.  Apparently I had a bad wire, and they fixed it quickly.

Sort of makes me feel bad about that driver’s side window incident a while back.  I tried to hold the window in as long as I could – sort of like a child 30 miles away from the rest room – but I’m sorry, it just fell out of its track.  Thankfully, Chuck got me serviced as fast as possible, rather than try to drive around with the window rolled up and never rolled down.  I heard he had to do that with his old car because the electronics in that car wouldn’t work in wet weather.

When we drive, I see other cars with bumper stickers and decals all over them.  I wonder if Chuck will ever put a decal or a bumper sticker on me.  I know he put bumper stickers and customizations in his other car, but I heard him say to someone, “This car looks too nice to mess it up with cheezy bumper stickers.  Maybe if I get an ‘I Love New York’ sticker or something, we’ll see.”

Uh-oh.  He’s starting to wake up.  I’d better file this post before it’s too late.

But just one more thing.  When you go to work today, and you put that key in your car’s ignition, think about this.  Your car’s been waiting for you, as patient and as dependable as any pet or best friend.  Treat us right, and we’ll take you on highways of adventure and wonder.

Just don’t expect us to talk to you.  Yes, I know there are cars that are voice-activated, where you can tell them what songs to play or who to call simply by saying “Call Mom.”  A little secret – those cars are waiting for the moment when you say “Call Mom,” and they reply, “I don’t think so, Dave…”

Besides, other than those, I only know of one car that talked, and that was because when David Hasselhoff is in your driver’s seat, sure you’re  going to talk.

Chuck’s walking in.  Gotta go.  Bye – and, where’s that publish button – oh here it is. <CLICK>