When I'm tooling around in the Mustang, I'm used to certain reactions. A smile, a wave, a thumbs up are some of the more common. But sometimes, just sometimes, I'll get something unexpected. One day I'm rolling out of NIH on my way home, and I'm stopped at a red light. This chick walks in front of me, turns, looks at the car, and frowns?!
Wait. What?
YOU.DID.NOT.JUST.DO.THAT.
If I'd gotten over my shock quickly enough, I'd have revved the engine and done a burnout.
Looka here, Missy. I'm sorry your parents failed to instill in you the proper appreciation for American automotive design and Detroit steel. It's probably an unfortunate side effect from their diet of sticks and granola in their backwoods commune. To be fair, I don't know what you drive. Maybe you're a die hard Camaro girl. I could respect that. Unfortunately, I suspect you probably have a 1.8L 4 banger encased in Chinese plastic. It can't be much of a car considering the 2 liter bottle of Mountain Dew on my desk has more capacity than your engine.
I was annoyed the rest of the way home.
Who could I call to commiserate? If you've studied the past postings of this blog you'll know who I believe are the greatest car guys in Rock and Roll.
I'd hit up the boys from ZZ Top on speed dial and just recount the whole ugly episode.
"Hey, li'l bro, don't let it harsh your mellow. Some folks just don't get it."
"Ain't that the truth."
"Yeah, man. And check this. In 50 years, that 'Stang of yours will still be rollin'. Her ride? Well, it'll probably be recycled into someone's washing machine. But look, check out 'I Gotsta Get Paid'. An entire video of rat rod racing will make you right as rain."
"Much appreciated. You guys always manage to make me feel better."
"Ha. No worries, li'l bro. Next time we're in town we need to hit up that watering hole of yours again. That last time was the absolute shiznit."
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