“To the LeBaron!” is what you hoped to hear.
“To the Le Pickle Wagon!” is what you got instead…
“This kid is one mother- ----- optimist” is what I’m pretty sure I remember hearing the doctor say the moment he pulled me from my Dearest Mother’s womb1I was born via C-section, if you’re curious about the odd phrasing. many moons ago.
Now we could argue about whether that was actually a false memory all day (spoiler alert: YOU’RE WRONG), or I could just provide yet another piece of compelling evidence to back up my bold assertion. Take, for example, being a member of a lower socio-economic class most of my life.
Contrary to popular belief, growing up without excess monetary funds in one’s family does, in fact, have its up-sides. My parents’ motto seemed to be “why buy a shiny new vehicle when you can buy one with character?”
Honestly, I kind of pity all the rich kids who had to grow up with reliable rides who were deprived of rolling around town in vehicles with fun names like “The Lime”, “Ol’ Rusty”, “The Lime The Second”, and, forever my personal favorite, “The Pickle Wagon.” The Pickle Wagon was my mom’s little station wagon that she had when she lived in Southern California, and it had to have been at least 15 years old at the time.
Also “at least 15 years old at the time”: Yours Truly. You see, during my high school years I lived with her in SoCal during the summers, and though I’ve known how to drive since I was 6, it wasn’t until I was 16 and legally licensed that I had the chance to learn how do drive in the Big City.
Occasionally I would get to drive my adult brother’s sweet Chrysler LeBaron convertible, but most of the time I was cruising the mean streets of Long Beach in The Pickle Wagon with my momma riding shotgun. It was probably for the best anyways, as–and I’m deeply embarrassed to admit any deficiencies in my driving skills–I kinda fudged up once and misjudged the distance of an incoming car as I was pulling out of a gas station into the street.
CRUNCH! SCRAAAAPE! The other car didn’t slow down much as they tried to swerve around us, but they still ended up side-swiping us pretty darn good. I pulled over to the side of the road waiting for them to stop and unleash some road rage on my ass (or at least exchange insurance information).
I sat there for a good minute or so, freaking out cause I knew I had done gone and ----- up this time. Of course, during this whole time I was playing out all the worst-case scenarios in my head, including, but not limited to: going to jail; dying in a street fight; Mom’s insurance rates going so high that she became homeless; Mom murdering me for destroying her sweet ride and going to jail…you get the idea.
After about 2 minutes of me sitting there having a panic-anic attack, Mom pointed out that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t coming back. Ultimately we figured the best explanation as to why we had just been the victims of a hit-and-run–despite being totally at fault–was that we had just witnessed the same statistical process that allows nuclear fusion to power the sun.2https://lmgtfy.app/?q=what+powers+the+sun+
In this analogy, though, instead of having two very rare, super-high-energy hydrogen atoms somehow finding each and colliding and undergoing fusion in the process, you had the two shittiest cars in all of Long Beach somehow finding each other and colliding and undergoing a process where they are actually in better condition afterwards. Honestly, after getting out and assessing the significant body damage, we couldn’t put our hands over our hearts and say that it was in worse shape.
If anything, Mom had a fancier paint job, what with the new-found racing stripes running down the side and all…
The point of the story is: this Valentine’s Day, if you find yourself all alone and bummed out, don’t despair! If a humble character with a name like The Pickle Wagon could overcome all odds to find her3Don’t know why it would be a “she”–we didn’t have the benefit of proactive pronoun sharing back then. one-in-a-million perfect match that in the end made her a better car, then there’s gotta be hope for you yet!
*crickets*
Wow. That sounded way more condescending and insulting once I typed it out.
Maybe I’ll leave you with this instead: One day I happened to be thinking about the infamous “P*ssy Wagon”4https://lmgtfy.app/?q=pussy+wagon+kill+bill&t=i pickup truck from the Kill Bill movies, and found myself wondering what they would have named it if Buck, its criminally-high-libido-levels-having owner, had been female instead…
Before I could stop the chain-reaction of thoughts, I had already traumatized myself with the image of my squeaky-clean mother, standing next to her beloved PW, gruffly proclaiming “My name is Lilian,5Almost her real name. and I’m here to get it in!”6You know, on second thought, maybe you had better NOT Google “My name is buck”…especially if you’re my mom!
Content created on: 10 February 2021 (Wednesday)
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