How I ended up driving a tank.
Since I just picked up my rental car yesterday (a very nice woman with a very big SUV backed into my little cute Camry, so it is currently in the shop, sigh), I couldn't help but reminisce about the first time I rented a car almost four years ago. Damn, that was a long time ago.
I was driving from DC to Charlottesville, you know, in those days when I visted Cville so often that I had a manicurist and hairstylist down there. Ah, Marlo. She understood my hair like nobody ever has. I went to her exclusively for a solid two years - which for me is huge, since I have hairdresser ADD even though all the fashion mags tell you to stick with one person. I miss Marlo. I knew that I'd have to leave her someday, but I didn't expect that day to come so soon - I should've had another year with her. Just something else I can blame on fuckhead. I might have to fly down there in the spring to cut my hair (I have other friends at UVa, so it's not like I'm flying just for a haircut. Though I did use to plan my haircuts around my trips..)
Anyway. So I had to drive from DC to Cville, and since I had flown into DC it wasn't like I had a car at my disposal. Off to the rental agency it was for me. Very patiently, I waited in line - and then, wouldn't you know it, this obnoxious (but cute) guy Cut The Line saying that he was an employee of the same car rental company (but from a different franchise - are they franchises? Or is that only fast food places?) and Needed A Car.
Finally, it was my turn to get a car. Finally. But wouldn't you know it, they were out of compact cars. They had, in fact, rented the last one to the bastard guy who had cut in front of me. And they were out of economy sized cars too. As a matter of fact, the only car they had left was.. oh, wait for it... a freaking Grand Marquis, otherwise known as granny cars or cop cars. The only car worse they could've given me would've been a nice ol' Cadillac.
Anyway, if you click on that link, it'll take you to the Mercury website, and please note that all the people featured in the various photo shots of the Grand Marquis are of grandparental age. That's their target demographic. And the nice people at the car rental place gave it to a (then) 20-year-old.
And as cars befitting grannies and/or cops, it is huge. I imagine driving a tank would be akin to driving a Grand Marquis. That thing has no turning radius, plus, as I am all of 5'5, when I got behind the wheel, I could barely see over it. Just like a granny. No wonder old people can't drive, cars built for them have seats so low they can't even see over the dashboard. I won't even go into how many times I nearly hit something/someone. And those cars also have no acceleration. For all intents and purposes, I was a granny for those couple of days, given that my car restricted me so.
Unfortunately, my car this time is a rather pedestrian Ford Focus. No good stories here (Maybe how I have been flashing everyone my high beam lights because I couldn't figure out how to turn my headlights?). But I do look upon Grand Marquises with a small measure of half-hearted affection. And I hope that I never have to drive one again.
I was driving from DC to Charlottesville, you know, in those days when I visted Cville so often that I had a manicurist and hairstylist down there. Ah, Marlo. She understood my hair like nobody ever has. I went to her exclusively for a solid two years - which for me is huge, since I have hairdresser ADD even though all the fashion mags tell you to stick with one person. I miss Marlo. I knew that I'd have to leave her someday, but I didn't expect that day to come so soon - I should've had another year with her. Just something else I can blame on fuckhead. I might have to fly down there in the spring to cut my hair (I have other friends at UVa, so it's not like I'm flying just for a haircut. Though I did use to plan my haircuts around my trips..)
Anyway. So I had to drive from DC to Cville, and since I had flown into DC it wasn't like I had a car at my disposal. Off to the rental agency it was for me. Very patiently, I waited in line - and then, wouldn't you know it, this obnoxious (but cute) guy Cut The Line saying that he was an employee of the same car rental company (but from a different franchise - are they franchises? Or is that only fast food places?) and Needed A Car.
Finally, it was my turn to get a car. Finally. But wouldn't you know it, they were out of compact cars. They had, in fact, rented the last one to the bastard guy who had cut in front of me. And they were out of economy sized cars too. As a matter of fact, the only car they had left was.. oh, wait for it... a freaking Grand Marquis, otherwise known as granny cars or cop cars. The only car worse they could've given me would've been a nice ol' Cadillac.
Anyway, if you click on that link, it'll take you to the Mercury website, and please note that all the people featured in the various photo shots of the Grand Marquis are of grandparental age. That's their target demographic. And the nice people at the car rental place gave it to a (then) 20-year-old.
And as cars befitting grannies and/or cops, it is huge. I imagine driving a tank would be akin to driving a Grand Marquis. That thing has no turning radius, plus, as I am all of 5'5, when I got behind the wheel, I could barely see over it. Just like a granny. No wonder old people can't drive, cars built for them have seats so low they can't even see over the dashboard. I won't even go into how many times I nearly hit something/someone. And those cars also have no acceleration. For all intents and purposes, I was a granny for those couple of days, given that my car restricted me so.
Unfortunately, my car this time is a rather pedestrian Ford Focus. No good stories here (Maybe how I have been flashing everyone my high beam lights because I couldn't figure out how to turn my headlights?). But I do look upon Grand Marquises with a small measure of half-hearted affection. And I hope that I never have to drive one again.
posted at 12:53
0 Comments:
Enregistrer un commentaire
<< Home