Is it wrong to like being behind the wheel of an SUV? Is it bad to feel empowered for having a height advantage? I'm feeling guilty for my new found love of bigger cars. Perhaps it's only temporary, a crush, puppy love. I noticed while driving my new rental (a Ford Escape) over the vast San Mateo Bridge that I am now part of a special group. I like to call it the "we are better than all the cars lower than us. ha ha ha!" group. I didn't want this car, I didn't ask for this car, but now I'm driving it.
We had the Saturn back for one day. For one day everything was back to normal, but I knew it was too good to be true, especially when I gave the car a little gas on my way to work and it felt like I ran over a giant rock or someone hit me from behind. I was driving on the 880 and I gave Alex a call (over the scream of the Saturn engine) to tell him I missed the Grand Prix. Maybe the car understood what I was saying. Maybe the universe didn't want me to love a white guido-mobile. Whatever it was, the car started bucking, it felt like it was going to stall at any given moment. I became an instant basket case. Anyone who has ever driven with me can vouch for this; I'm a nervous driver to begin with. White knuckles come with the territory. An upset stomach while driving through personally unchartered land is par for the course. The questions started reeling in my head... Where am I going to pull over when I stall out on the bridge? How many cars will rear end me when I stall out at the toll booth? You know, typical nervous driver questions, because it's always best to prepare for the worst, or at least make yourself sick about it. That's the way my family taught me to do things. It goes a little something like this: you make yourself crazy with worry because then if things turn out okay you feel great. If things were sort of bad then they could have been worse. And if things turn out the way you dreaded at least you were prepared. I'm not saying this is rational behavior, I'm just letting you in on the old family secret of working yourself into an unnecessary frenzy.
I made it to work safely with a dry mouth and nausea. I decided not to think about the car again until I was going to leave for the night. 5:30 came around and I took a deep breath and got into the drivers seat. Smooth sailing for the first 2 miles and then the rest of the ride home resembled a rodeo. I drove in the slow lane, with my hazard lights on as trucks passed me. Humiliating.
I took the Saturn back this morning, and after an extremely uncomfortable 25 minutes of driving around with a mechanic waiting for the bucking thing to happen while he was driving (it mildly happened once and I became that crazy high maintenance lady shrieking "There! There it is! That's it! Did you feel it?!") he told me the car needed a tune up. I told him that he should fix it because this never happened before the car was stolen. It went back and forth for awhile, but once the gals in the office chimed in it worked out to my advantage. They called the rental car people for me and a nice guy named Cornell picked me up from the auto body shop. He liked to talk and ask questions and said "dang" a lot. I liked him. He drove me to the Enterprise and gave me this small SUV.
So now I'm back to where I was a month ago, except this time I have an even bigger car. And I have to admit that after driving around in a car that practically scrapes the asphalt (yeah, that's right, I'm talking about you Saturn) it's kind of nice to be up there with the elite force. I know, I'm taking it back tomorrow, so get off my case, okay?