I went to private school for high school. I got a good educations and I liked the people I went to school with. It’s not with any bitterness that I say I have the worst beater of a ride in the entire school. Judging from their prominence in the parking lot, the dream ride of your average upper middle class teen in Middle Tennessee in the early 1990s was a black Chevy suburban. You’d see an occasional Ford Bronco too. There was only one 9 year old blue diesel Chevette with a dented door.
That’s right. Diesel. According to some website, it probably got 40 miles per gallon. I can state for a fact that it went 0 to 60 in 45 seconds. The clutch had had it, and I drove for months on the donut. There were home speakers wired into the stereo system and a Grateful Dead sticker on the back. A cop pulled me over, ostensibly because the muffler had fallen off, and then searched my car because I had a “candy bear decal.” He asked me if I knew people who sold pot. I told him I went to private school.
He was unimpressed, as were my classmates who overruled my protests that we take a less-identifiable car when we snuck off campus to smoke and get Chinese food. The school has since moved and it’s unlikely that a student could sneak off undetected. I suppose that is all for the good, given that such behavior might be dangerous. Still, when it starts to get really warm, all I want to do is hand crank down a window, crank up They Might Be Giants, and find a bench on which to eat some chicken lo mien.
i see your diesel chevette and raise you one diesel rabbit pickup, with topper.
Um, I drove a diesel rabbit pickup too. Right into the back of a landscaper’s truck.