CAR GUYS

Most guys would tear out their tongues before confessing this. I am not a car guy. Lest you think, of course he don’t like cars, he’s a sissy, milq-toast preacher, I must interject, au contraire. I have the car guy disease; it’s in my blood. But I’m a carrier, not a casualty. I was inoculated young and often during my childhood.

You see, my dad is a car guy. Not your average, garden variety aficionado either. This man is a drag racing, street rod, custom car, do-it-yourself-or-die car guy. When I was 12, his 1931 Model A Ford took first place at the Los Angeles Sports Arena over 2,000 other show cars. His Model A has been on the covers of Car Craft and Hot Rod magazines. He’s been voted Street Rodder of the Year. He does everything. Engine rebuilds and upgrades, bodywork, fiberglass and paint jobs. I stand amazed at his skill and innovative thinking. Retired now, he gets to devote all his time to the craft he loves.

You would think growing up with that kind of pedigree would make me the savant of the car world, not just the idiot. I was the envy of all the boys in the neighborhood, including the ones who despised me. But it didn’t take. As I said, I was inoculated. I had so much CAR in my life, including the unpleasant sanding and cleanup tasks, that by the time I was old enough to drive I had no use for the car guy world. My loss.

Now, here I am in my fifties and I am beginning to appreciate cars for themselves. I find I can look at a paint job and know if the underlying bodywork was done right. I still wield a mean sanding block and, most telling, I’m beginning to lust for a cool car. This is not some mid-life crisis yearning, now. This is a mature, reasoned, sensible lust.

So I spend a lot of time looking at cars when I’m out driving. I like the retro Mustang, but the leg room is a bit short for me. The Chrysler 300 is a cool and veddy adult machine. But what really grabs my imagination these days is the retro Dodge Challenger. I find that a truly cool conveyance. Does that make me almost a car guy?

I listed my credentials to justify the following comments. I noticed a Mercedes Benz today. Now, I’m more of a bread and butter, Ford/Chevy/Dodge man myself, but the model name caught my eye: C230 Compressor. Compressor? What kind of name is that for a car? How about ShopVac, or Jeepers Creeper while they’re at it? I couldn’t help laughing at seeing that silly name on such a high class, luxury auto. I wanted to ask the owner, How many psi are you pumping out, Buddy? Hey, can you, like, hook up a paint sprayer or nail gun to that thing?

Naming cars after poisonous snakes, predatory birds and unruly horses makes sense. Even the recent spate of Latin terms weren’t bad. But have we run out of good, dangerous, powerful terms? Are we reduced to exploiting household gadgets? If so, the marketing folks ought not neglect the female buyers in their calculations. I envision a whole line of cars named Bouquet, Herbal and Water Feature.