Sunday, May 15, 2011

oh happy day!

This is a very special and glorious day for me.  Those who read this will, in all likelihood, forever judge my character as that of an insane person, but I care not.  I care not!  Either way, think of it like this: it is Sunday and regardless of your personal beliefs, it is a day of recuperation, collecting of thoughts and recognizing the things you are thankful for.  I am thankful for this story and the praise-be-to-the-heavens ending it has.

When you are a high school student about to embark on your senior year of applying to colleges, stupidly stressful tests and general slacking off there is one thing you want.  Yes, you want a ‘wicked sweet ride’ (as us New Englanders would say… no one would say ‘wicked sweet caahh’ because, no, we don’t want you guys making fun of us).  Except you probably are not going to get one unless you are ‘wicked rich’.  So you get a junky old car or you drive your mother’s minivan when she allows it.  You are all ho-hum about this, but you do not even realize how quickly that stupid pile of metal is going to snuggle up into your heartstrings. 

You will later wax poetic about that car.

You may even blog about it.

Well the summer before my senior year I had been driving my grandmother’s car because she was once again in Greece because she’s the luckiest ever.  However as the school year approached, so did her arrival back into the States and thus would begin the lack of vehicleage for me.  I tried to pretend it didn’t matter to me because I had always made fun of all the people who grew creepily attached to their caahhs and named them and were all about their piles of metal junk.  Yet I did want something so that I could drive to school all on my own and be maybe a tiny bit less of a loser.

Then a miracle of all miracles descended upon my life: my father wanted to get a junky caahh to haul stuff around town.  Mostly so he didn’t have to use his own to go to the dump.  Salvation! I thought, and not a moment too soon! 

Oh father dearest, what type of car will it be?  I asked, wide-eyed and bushy tailed.

A truck, replied he.

Awesome!  I thought, girls in trucks are so cool and it will be like one final act of New Hampshire hickness for me before I run away to the city and never look back.

One of those little trucks, probably.

Cue record scratch.  But oh, those were so silly looking!  And my distain for over-attachment to cars had arisen from an ex-boyfriend who happened to have a little truck that he just loved so much.  Yet I was steadfast in my excitement; it was a vehicle that I could drive and it would be way more awesome than that other truck.


Actually it was basically a carbon copy of that other truck.  Only a long-bed.  Which I maintain makes it oh so much cooler.

However much I felt like I was going to hate my life driving it at the time, it very quickly grew on me.  It was the reason I drive a standard to this day.  I remember the first time my dad took me out to a parking lot to learn the stick shift and how terrified the prospect of actually driving this with other cars seemed.  It was probably the most zen moment of my life though because I took a deep breath and reminded myself that there would be a time very soon where driving this way would be second-nature.  It is.

I drove that little truck all over the place from senior year right on through college.  It was the toughest little truck there ever was (at least to me)!  Then suddenly, as if anticipating my move to California, it sprang a leak in the gas tank… which is sort of a problem.  And then my little truck sat there in the woods by our house in a little truck coma, waiting for it to either top the gas tank donor list or for us to pull the plug on it.

Then today I get this from my mother:


With the text: Will it run or blow up?

And people,


It ran!

Look at it.  No but, seriously, look at it (sorry, that was a little too Jokerish of me.  I assure you, NOT my intention)!  Is it not the cutest and toughest thing you have ever seen?  And it is running again!  I don’t even know when the next time I’ll be able to drive it is, but if only I were 3000 miles closer I would hug my brother, father and our family friend for fixing my little truck and making this the best. day. ever.

Okay, I actually wrote about this so I’ve officially gone insane, but what a happy way to go!

1 comment:

  1. Awesome story. I drove my first car for six years, and it was a POS. But I was so proud to have it at all, I fell in love with it.


Let's chat. What's on your mind?

Web Analytics