So far I’m very happy with the car, and as you can see from that goofy Cheshire Cat-esque grin on its face, it seems to be pretty happy with me as well.
It’s obviously no Lexus, but it’s a very good car compared to others in its class, and I ended up getting a great deal on it. Well… I should say my dad got a great deal on it. I’m paying for the car, but since my old truck was registered in his name, I needed him to co-sign in order to get the clunker rebate. This ended up working in my favor though, because when it came time to negotiate a deal, I had one of the most ruthless hagglers to ever step foot in a dealership on my side. My dad possesses 3 traits that make for an exceptional negotiator: the stubbornness of a mule, the intimidating presence of a lion, and the wallet of a Hasidic Jew. He wasted no time whittling the salesman down to an offer of 37 dollars and a half eaten Snickers bar, and even got him to throw in a navigation system and satellite radio. Through out the whole process, I just silently sat there like a Dominican baseball prospect while Scott Boras nailed down a $100 million contract. Occasionally a question would be directed at me and I would say, “Jes, iz goot.”
Of course my purchase through the Clunker program meant that I had to bid a bitter-sweet goodbye to my 1997 Toyota Tacoma.
I will definitely miss the Taco. It was never the quickest, the smoothest, the slickest, the coolest, the cleanest, the greenest, nor was it the meanest car on the road. It had no power windows or locks, never had a decent pair of shocks. All its parts were rusted, yet it could always be trusted. It got me from A to B for the majority of my driving life, and that’s all I needed it to do. Unfortunately for her, socialist agenda reared its ugly head, and I jumped on the opportunity to get a car that was actually manufactured in the 21st century. I do feel guilty for putting it on death row where it awaits a capital punishment of having its oil replaced with sodium silicate and the engine run till it seizes, but I felt it was finally time for a change.
Now that its gone, I’ve been reflecting on our adventures together and I realized there are a lot of things that I will miss about my truck:
- The way the undercarriage used to rattle whenever I drove over a pot hole or crack in the road.
- The way it used to growl whenever I shifted into fourth gear too early.
- The eroding tailpipe that must have so helpful to the environment.
- How other Tacoma drivers would wave to me in passing, and how I would not acknowledge them at all.
- How it refused to start when the temperature dropped below freezing.
- The gay horn:
- Especially since it’s been replaced with an even gayer horn:
What is it with Japanese automakers and fruity car horns? I guess they got so tired of being honked at, they figured giving their horns an embarrassing sound would stop Americans from using them to chastise their driving.
- Having to strategize the best method of piling my groceries on the passenger seat.
- Not washing it, ever.
- The fact that I could drive it through dirt, mud, shit, piss, and park in the middle of a driving range without a care. Now I have to ask people to shower and take their shoes off before getting in my new car that’s been parked 20 miles from the nearest vehicle and covered in bubble-wrap.
- The fact that it had a cassette tape player.
- Catching the distinct smell of molded fries and stale vomit when opening the door.
- And of course, all of the self-deprecating material I got from it to write the majority of this shit. (see previous post)
My final ride in the truck couldn’t have been scripted better in the movies. Since it would end up getting crushed anyway, I decided to take one last, reckless joy ride with the old Taco. I peeled out a couple times, jumped some curbs, and hit a few signs, then I hopped on the highway and tried to top 100 with it for the first time ever. I got up to 90 and the whole thing started shaking worse than Michael J.Fox, so I eased back to the usual 55. Since I had cleaned everything out of the truck before leaving, I didn’t have my ipod with me and was forced to listen to the radio. After sitting through 20 minutes of commercials, a song finally came on in the form of “I Used to Love Her, but I had to Kill Her” by Guns N Roses. A strangely ironic and fitting song for the situation I thought, but not how I would have liked to close out our time together. Axl’s insufferable howling finally ended just as I pulled onto the exit ramp, and right after that, seemingly along with the truck’s deceleration, the slow, mournful chords of “Free Bird”came flowing through the cabin. Call me an emo bitch, but I have to say I got a little choked up in those final moments. I gave the dashboard a little pat, manually rolled down both windows, turned the volume up as high as it could go, and belted out:
Bye, bye, baby it’s been a sweet love.
Though this feeling I can’t change.
But please don’t take it so badly,
Cause Lord knows I’m to blame.
But if I stayed here with you girl,
Things just couldn’t be the same.
Cause I’m as free as a bird now,
And this bird you cannot change.
I pulled into the dealership sobbing and stroking the door while puzzled onlookers stared at me thinking I was on acid. I parked my old friend, said my goodbyes, and turned off the radio to make sure nothing else ever came through those speakers again.
