‘Tis the beginning of the year 2000, and I was sitting here reflecting on how much things have changed just in my lifetime. Everyone’s been talking about the advances in technology, but I’m thinking about all the other stuff.
Like buying a car. My first car was a used 1968 Kharmann Ghia convertible. Boy, I thought it was the cutest car I had ever seen. I bought it for $900 a year after having to borrow my mom’s puke green Ford every time I needed wheels. Most kids nowadays expect something bright and shiny the day after they get their driver’s license. I was so happy just to have my own keys.
And my parents didn’t buy it for me. I took out a loan at the bank and my payments were $39 a month. First of all, there’s no bank now that would make such a loan, much less for a mere $900, much less to a high school kid, much less for an old car! Second, $39 won’t even buy gas for a month now. What am I saying? It takes more than that to even fill up some cars one time.
Third, I know my kids would faint dead away if I told them they would be making their own car payments. Heck, our family home then cost the same as a Suburban does now. And you can’t even play hide and seek and stuff in a Suburban. Well, I guess you could, but it wouldn’t be any fun.
Anyway, I drove that little thing all through college and racked up bunches of memories in it. Whenever we had a big group of us that all wanted to go somewhere, we’d put the top down and pile in, no matter what the weather. It became my best friend, and I knew it’s idiosyncrasies like the back of my hand.
Like, the windshield wiper squirters worked off the air pressure from the spare tire. When I checked the air in my tires, I had to check the spare, too. And like when I put the top back up, it was done in about ten steps, that unless done in the correct order, would lead to the top blowing back down while doing 70 on the freeway. When closing the doors, I had to roll the windows down first, close the door, then roll the windows back up. Otherwise, if I made a hard left, the right door would fly open. Of course, all my friends knew this and would automatically lean in and hold on every time we turned.
When I sold it, I put an ad in the paper that said “Have to sell my baby … $300.” The first man that called said, “I’m calling about Baby.” He knew. She wasn’t a car, but a member of the family. He was worthy.
He fell in love at first sight and bought her. In the glove compartment, I put a five-page list of things he should know about her. I told him all about the spare tire and the ten-step program for her convertible top. I told him not to lean on the right door when making a left. I told him if the windshield wipers ever got stuck, just to give them a push and they’d start up again. I told him how to get it in reverse without stripping the gears.
He wrote me a letter a month later and told me how much he liked her and thanked me for the list. Nowadays, I would have been sued for nondisclosure before the sale.
That sure was a fun car. And a fun era. Goodbye, 1999. Hello, 2000.
I can’t wait to see the nostalgic article my daughter writes thirty years from now … “back when I was in high school, we actually had to drive the car … nowadays teenagers want to jump in and connect to the computerized road system without even turning a key …”
