Cars are filthy, disgusting and dangerous
I was hanging out at Melendy's
awhile back. It's a bar in Santa Rosa where the
Oakland Raiders used to frequent. I'm a 49er's fan.
But I'd rather drink with the Raiders. I'd hate to
embarrass myself before the 49ers. It's not possible
with the Raiders.
Joe Melendy, the owner of the bar,
and I were engaged in a conversation. He asked me
what I did for a living. He knew me, but only as a
drinker. At the time I was a newspaper reporter, and
I confessed as much to him.
"Oh," he said wiping off the bar
with a towel. Then he stopped and looked me straight
in the eyes.
"I was watching Mike Wallace
interview President Reagan last night and I got to
ask... do you ever feel like a whore? Because I know
your editors pay you to ask the questions you do.
So... do you ever feel like a whore?"
It was one of those defining
moments. You either sink or you swim, and if I
wanted to keep drinking there with any modicum of
respect, I had to swim. Think, fuckhead, think. Ah,
finally.
"No," I said. "Do you ever feel
like a drug dealer?"
That was the second free drink I
ever got from Melendy. The first one was for knowing
who the backup quarterback for Elway on the Broncos
was in 1987 (Kubiak).
Melendy's is no longer in business.
Moral: Don't give me more than one free drink.
Of course, I AM a whore and he is a
drug pusher, but it doesn't matter. You may be a
garbage collector. Bet you're called a sanitation
technician. It don't matter.
The biggest whore job I ever had
was writing about cars for a newspaper's advertising
section. I was good at it. I wrote about "urban
tanks" and "rag tops" and "woodys" like I actually
owned one (I think I did have a woody... once.)
My favorite car is a Yellow Cab.
A friend of mine, Bruce R., a
journalist at a competing website, bought a new car
about six years ago. He told me it was his first
new-car purchase ever. I read him the riot act.
"You're supporting the oil
companies and the assholes in Detroit," I said.
"You're just encouraging them."
I regretted the words as soon as
they were out of my mouth. He looked crestfallen.
Here was a guy who spent all his extra money on pot
and Greenpeace, and I was ragging on him for his
first real venture into the real world. He just
wanted the smell of new vinyl. So what's the harm?
Sorry Bruce.
Lately, I've found myself in a band
with a bunch of car guys. They talk about their V8s
(I could have had one), their cams, their fuel
injections, their payments... it's a country band.
So this goes out to the Fence
Cutters. With the zeal of a Rotarian at a tree
planting ceremony I will muster the most positive
article I can write about the good old automobile.
I know. Some will say that cars
haven't done us any good. Phallic symbols that maim
and kill. They'll look up Highway Patrol statistics,
cite drunken driving arrests (25 percent of all
deaths on the highway are caused by drunken
drivers... the rest are caused by fucking cars..
double meaning intended) and note the death and
destruction caused by the internal combustion engine
Then some dweeb will chime in about
the pollution of the environment, the congestion on
Highway 101 (and Interstate 31), the propagation of
the military/industrial complex and the sartorial
plight on the landscape caused by the wardrobes of
used car salesmen.
But what about all the good that
has come from the invention of the automobile? Why
if it weren't for cars:
- Ralph Nader would never have
become a presidential candidate.
- The Cars would have been just
another Boston rock band. (Like Boston.)
- Lee Iacocca would have been yet
another Italian with a Princeton degree.
- Jack Kerouac's On The Road
would have been at least four times as long.
- Car salesmen would be loosed on
the world, likely as crack dealers.
- A Blazer would only be found in
gay bars.
- Route 66 would have been a
stupid TV show, now wouldn't it?
- We would have all been virgins a
few years longer.
- Bumper stickers would keep
sliding off horses' asses.
- Fill 'er up would be a sexist
remark.
- Porsche would be that character
from Shakespeare. (Or is it that Greek guy?)
- The Japanese would be way, way
behind us
- The Germans would have to find
some other way to express their anal retentive
tendencies.
- And "American Pie" wouldn't have
had a chorus.
Most of all, I wouldn't have made
the big money writing about cars.
I know whereof I speak. The last
big job I had in journalism (other than this column)
was writing about cars for the Marin Independent
Journal. I wrote unctuous puff pieces praising the
industry. I was an advertising writer. It was good
for me.
Until one day when I interviewed a
Mr. Kite for an article I was writing for the
benefit of his dealership.
"This is a great thing which you
are doing," Mr. Kite told me.
Yeah, I thought. Writing about cars
is up there with teaching the illiterate, saving the
baby harp seal, and protecting the North Coast from
offshore drilling. I quit the next day. The day
after that I ragged on Bruce.
The best authority I know about the
automobile industry -- Joe T., night gas station
attendant at the Beacon on Main Street in
Sebastopol, Ca. -- tells me not to worry. The auto
industry is a passing fad, he says. Timmons know his
stuff. He's been servicing stations since the age of
15.
"In probably 50 years it will all
be over and we'll go back to horses," Timmons says.
Too bad. We're a better nation and
a better people as a whole thanks to the car. Then
again, probably not, but I'm a cowardly lion when it
comes to being published. I might need to make money
again from auto articles and I don't want to
alienate the advertisers.
I do believe in cars, I do believe
in cars, I do, I do, I do.
* * *
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be
funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on
your own. Copyright 1997 by Mike Jasper.
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