- Cynthia Rodriguez
My whole life until just this year I always questioned people's obsession with their vehicles. I always viewed it as a shallow, materialistic, self-indulgent preoccupation fueled by the media, upbringing, and pure narcissism.
How full of shit was I?
That all ended when I finally got my very own vehicle, going through the gamut of a dealership, grueling bank protocols, and never-ending, pocket-draining monthly payments, and then some....
I'm not gonna bother bitchin' and moanin' about my past cars. It's like whining about past relationships. Useless. I was lucky I even had any of those automobiles. Albeit they were all "hand-me-downs", but none the less, they were all pretty much, gratis.
After all these years I finally figured out what the "problem" was. It was very simple.
I was hatin'.
I was hatin' on ALL the people that had nice vehicles. I was especially hatin' every single time my car (whichever one it was), would break down, every time I had to call Triple A, everytime I'd be stuck on the highway, (or 3 blocks from my house). I hated the fact that I knew practically every tow truck driver in town on a first name basis. And finally, I hated that each little driving trip was possibly a panic attack waiting to happen. "Am I gonna make it to the Post Office?".
Yeah, all that gets old...real quick.
Now that I have my "LITTLE FOOT", ( yes, I'm one of those who name their vehicles, always have been), I've realized that all this time I was just being a scrutinizing, judgemental little bitch.
ENVY can be a real motha-fucka.
So, for my first "real" vehicle, I knew it had to be something special, something practical, something I can carry alotta stuff in, something.....dyky
Voila, le pick-up truck.
Of course as soon as I got it, I brace myself for everyone's clever little "dyke" remarks about having a truck, etc...so I'm just like...
"Haha...yeah, I've never heard THAT one before.
I am aware, however, of the whole lesbian-truck connection. What can I say?
What's great is that it makes lugging around art soooo easy, the whole "garbage picking"/"dumpster diving" hunt for "found objects"....a breeze.
What sucks is that everybody and their mother asks you to help them move.
What do I look like? Your fuckin' slave? You think just because you offer me a six-pack of Coors
Light, I'm gonna move your tacky couch down three flights of stairs?
Fuck that. Rent a U-HAUL bitch.
Like I don't work enough. Yeah, why don't I strain a couple of back muscles for you too while I'm at it.
Another thing is that some people have this notion about pick ups like you're some hybrid hick from the boondocks. My one co-worker I went to dinner with not too long ago first objected to being a passenger because she "didn't want to be seen in a truck". I was like, "Oh no, you din't". I asked her, "What do you think I carry back there, sheep or something? Let me esplain you something okay? My little truck is nice, and you should be honored to be riding in it, honey".
What the hell? She was acting like I had deer antlers stuck in the front for decoration and some shotgun rack hanging in the back or some shit.
Now, not to be completely snobbish of that "good ol' country boy" culture, I must admit I am what another co-worker calls, "closet-white trash".
Even growing up in the projects in NYC didn't make me immune to enjoying my once in a while trips to Madison Square Garden to spectate the NHRA (National Hot Rod Association) monster truck rallies full of fume, mud, and the leave you deaf for two hours noise, go through my NASCAR fan phase, reading HOT ROD magazine, putting together models of race cars, riding GO-KARTS pretending I was a race car driver, and keeping memorablia like my BIG FOOT monster truck calendar. As soon as I get somewhat over my OCD about my truck, I'll attempt to do a little local "off-roading". Just a little bit though, nothing that will kill the suspension on my vehicle or anything like that.
I'd love to learn enough about vehicles someday to have my own little garage to learn to do things on my vehicles by myself without being such a "girl" about it. It's embarrasing having straight girls have to explain things to you about cars and how they work. But also in another way it's kind of hot.
Although, I must say, I LOVE talking to straight guys about trucks. Especially when they envy mine. Love it beyond love. It's like having a "trophy wife". I'm thinking to myself, "Yeah, that's right, that's my baby". I pamper that thing more than I do myself. Have all kinds of what I call "hygiene" products for it. It's a little Diva that thing. I'm at the Carwash every single week. I don't smoke in it. I'm very protective and territorial about it. Kinda like a girlfriend.
A note about the Carwash. A place I've learned to love. Quality time is about an average two hours a week. Three if it's that waxing time of the month. Now, I'm not talking about that drive-through bullshit. I'm talkin' the do-it-yourself gettin' dirty scrub and rinse it yourself deal. I see alot of people coming in and out, doing their thing, observe. I'm usually one of the very few women there. Most women I see there are with their male partners and look like when guys are dragged to watch a chic-flick. They're just there. They are usually the "go-fers" The guy: "Get me some more quarters!", or they are "babysitting" the kids that are running all over the carwash being a pain-in-the-ass around people like me just minding their own business who are just trying to clean their freakin' vehicle. Half of them are obnoxious little teens or twenty something's blasting their crappy music around the "NO LOUD MUSIC" sign. I swear they're gonna drive me to get an I-POD. Maybe that will help me drown out the FIVE different lousy pop songs I hear at the same time while I'm using the Turtlewax.
In the future, I definitely plan on getting a hybrid truck. One way or another, I believe that will be the direction everyone will take eventually in an attempt to rival these retarded gas prices.
So, have I become one of those "narcissistic" car people I was talking about? Absolutely yes.
Now I understand what the hype was all about.
Eh, fuck it.
I can live with it.