The first car I could technically call
my own was an austere Gremlin produced by the now defunct America
Motors Corporation. For those too young the Gremlin was an American
subcompact-sized economy car produced during the 1970's whose visual
appearance was unlike any other vehicles made during that era, in
other words most people considered the model quite ugly. Despite its
odd appearance, its chief attributes was that it was a cheap,
dependable car that got exceedingly good gas mileage, even by today's
standards. I got my Gremlin from my grandfather, it was the car he
drove to work and when he retired it was passed to me. I don't
remember what year the car was made but by the time I began driving
it back and forth to school the blue color of the paint job had long
since faded to the point it actually had more of a gray tint.
I can't say for sure but I believe the
color change was the result of exposure to the chemicals in the air
near the paper mill my grandfather worked. Yes I've asked the same
question you might now be thinking, if these diluted chemicals had
such an effect on the paint job of a car it's an open question as to
what they might do to living things. All I can say is that it's a
longstanding joke that the paper mill allows my hometown to be
smelled long before you actually saw the sign indicating the city
limit. At least the color change allowed the outside body to match
the interior which was either plastic, in the case of the dashboard,
and the vinyl seats.
My Gremlin was about as basic a model
as it could come since it didn't have air conditioning and the radio
was only able to pick up the AM dial, drawbacks that completely
stupefied my son to the point that he once told me he would have
rather gone without driving to school. Such were the times because I
remember my little car was not the only basic and ramshackle model
parked around the high school. The vehicles of the student body
consisted of numerous beat up trucks and dilapidated cars that
collectively rattled and coughed something akin to a mechanical
symphony in the afternoon as we all left for the day.
Sure, there were a few exception like
the kids whose parents were wealthy enough to buy them one of the
flashy sports cars like the Pontiac Trans Am or Chevy Camaro. And
yes, such individuals seemed genetically programmed for the need to
make an overt displays of their expensive transportation by either
rattling any nearby windows with the sound from their amplified car
stereo or producing as large a cloud of dust as possible as they
peeled out of the gravel parking lot. On a side note, several years
after I graduated from high school, I bought Jane Goodall's first
book on her experience observing the behavior of chimpanzees in the
wild and was stunned at how similar human behavior could be compared
to our hairier and supposedly less evolved cousins.
Years later after finishing up my army
enlistment I enrolled in the local community college and quickly
noticed that car ownership standards among the students had gone up
considerably. For those newly graduated high school students almost
all of them drove cars that at best were just a few years old and in
great condition. There was also a higher percentage of rich obnoxious
a-holes who regularly showed off the perks of being born into a
family where daddy, and maybe mom was well, was a doctor, lawyer, or
some other high-salary type. The sad fact was that if there was a
beat economy car in the college parking lot it probably driven by one
of the single moms desperately trying to hold together her sanity
while pursuing an education and take care of her kids. Playing the
full disclosure card here, my Gremlin had long since passed on while
I drove a 1984 Chevy Camaro. Its purchase, made after graduation but
before going in the army was severely problematic but, like they say,
that is water that had long since passed under the bridge and made it
to the ocean.
The funny thing about all those bright
and shiny expensive cars rich mommies and daddies had bought their
newly minted high school graduates was that as the days and weeks
passed after the start of a new semester, they not so slowly
disappeared from the college parking lot. About the same time it was
not uncommon to see one of these privileged offspring working the
counter at one of the numerous fast food places or retail shops in
the general area. In fact early one semester a young girl fresh out
of high school began asking me about questions about our community
college before class. She wanted to know simple things like which
instructors were hard and which were the ones that would grade on a
curb.
At the time I was around twenty-five
years old and found her rather annoying since she was at best
eighteen. During her questions she made the statement that her dad
had given her choice of returning to school or getting a job. Not an
unreasonable demand from her dad, but when she said that if things
didn't go well in college her other option was just to get married.
It was then that I suddenly remembered I desperately had to go to the
restroom and didn't return until after class had started. Thankfully,
my seat next the young girl had long since been taken my another
person. Several months later, I saw that same girl pregnant and
working one of those sunglasses stands inside the old Myrtle Beach
mall.
Luckily for me my quota of common
sense, or stupid luck, was rather high during that period of my life
and I never did get entangled with any young nymphets looking for a
meal ticket and a baby daddy.
Maybe it's just late middle age
screwing with the wiring in my brain but those memories and many
others came flooding back to me recently as I waited in the my
daughter's high school parking lot. It seems suburban affluence has
spread its decadent tendrils down to that level now. The vehicles in the
student body parking lot are a remarkable collection expensive cars
with at least a dozen redneck super trucks that belch enough black
smoke when running to kill any nearby lifeforms. These trucks, with
an suspension that raises them so high it takes a step ladder to
reach up and open the door, are literal “screw the planet”
statements every time those drivers cause thick plums of black smoke
to come out of the exhausts. Then there are about the same number of
sports cars, including several BMW's, Audi's, and more than a few
Toyota Priuses complete with ecologically minded bumper stickers. The
most outrageous car though has to go to the kid driving a Chevy
Corvette. He comes out of the school everyday with an entourage of
male and female admirers swarming around him like joyous flies. Given his swagger and overall good looks it
seems a good bet someone like him will drift towards politics.
I've looked for someone driving a
modern version of my old Gremlin at my daughter's high school. I have
to admit to a certain amount of melancholy to the fact that I really
don't see anyone that even comes close to fitting that niche. The
unbridled affluence shown by these kids is nauseating in a subtle
way. It makes me feel like a bit of a dinosaur surrounded by swift
and more intelligent mammals.
About the only solace I can find in
this situation is the belief that events far larger than the petty
wants of American teenagers will forcefully insert a degree of reason
into what cars parents can afford for their driving age kids. Yes, I
know I'm just becoming a curmudgeon but in all honesty there is no
teenager in the United States that needs to drive a damn Corvette to
school. The little spoiled twits need something to aspire to that
will force them to get a real education and then a job.
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