How Does a Red Car Blush?
Growing up the son of a mechanic and car aficionado/miracle worker would have seemingly led to me acquiring a similar interest, skill set or at least a passing knowledge of what lies beneath a hood. Unfortunately I wound up with none of these and can barely tell the difference between a radiator and a baseball cap. My reliance on my father’s incredible breadth of knowledge of all things automotive has allowed me to survive to this point in my life without any mechanical ability and has left me perpetually in his debt.
Beside the contact with minor Toronto celebrities/customers and the resulting swag, I am most thankful for my dad’s profession due to its manifestation into the car that I currently drive. Over the years I have been privilege to pilot the pillaged remains of many customers. Most memorable was the 1983 chrome gold beast that was my companion for my final few years of university. Technically a classic, Goldie was a good friend and I can only look back fondly on the distinctive cat urine smell that would sometimes come from under her hood on an especially cold winter day. However, nothing from the ghosts of cars past can hold a spark plug to my current chariot.
Big Red (or the Red Rocket as she was known during the time a particular strawberry headed basketball player wore a Raptors uniform) is an extension of myself. I am content in the knowledge that to many people my most distinct characteristic is the car I drive. Thus, when Big Red received a makeover last month I was overcome with pride and today, after a little wash and tune-up, I reaped the benefits.
Akin to my lack of engine savvy, I have never really looked at my car as a tool of attraction. Perhaps this is because in the past my cars had the visual attractiveness of an aging heroine addict trying to hold onto her youth with too much make-up and a decked out wardrobe from Zellars. I had never received a positive reaction from a passerby based on the appearance of my car until today. While the reaction was ego-boosting and just what I imagine those who seek this sort of justification for their incredible taste in wheels and frivolous upgrades would appreciate, the source rendered the whole event moot (and a little deflating).
First of all, the person was a man. An old man. This could be forgiven as the age, rarity and excellent condition of my car would be appreciated by an auto-enthusiast. However, this man and his passenger were seated within perhaps the least manly, most unappreciable piece of car possible; the Smart Car. While I understand the environmentally conscious aspect of the Smart Car and appreciate the whole idea behind it, I still can’t help but laugh at those people that try to combine taking themselves seriously with driving the little jewelry box on wheels. For a Smart owner to then pass a positive judgment on Big Red is not a good thing. It’s like Chad Kruger telling me he likes my band.
After pulling off the DVP and driving through the spectacular pedestrian scenery of Yorkville, I however, still held my head high. A compliment is a compliment and never really had to be given in the first place. I would rather William Hung consider me a fabulous vocalist than a shitty one. Right?
