October 11, 2006
Car Ignorance Is Indeed Bliss

It’s Nate’s problem, not mine.  But there’s no better example of the ills, worries and torment unique to folks who paid attention in school, the strange people who actually studied. 

Nate’s having problems buying a car.  Three months into the search he finds himself frustrated beyond belief.  First was the desire for “made in the USA” wheels, but then came the realization many models, while owned by foreign companies, are actually manufactured stateside, while automobiles one normally associates with “home-grown” are filled with parts outsourced from foreign countries. 

You can easily sympathize with my friend’s dilemma.  Thomas Friedman’s The World Is Flat extends into the automotive industry.  So far I was lock step with Nate in his “all things car” discussion but then I quickly disappeared into a Halloween like car-maze.  

Nate’s additional criteria were minimums of 150 horsepower and 250 cubic inches.  “But,” he pointed out, “President Reagan took us off the metric system over a quarter of a century ago and now auto dealers and manufacturers use “Liters”.  This bothered Nate, not me.  I was lost back at cubic inches.  “Yet”, he continued, “none of the salespeople I talked with were aware of how many cubic inches are in a liter.”  A good possibility for their lack of knowledge was the future automobile sales people of our nation were sitting next to me at the back of the classroom checking out the Playmate of the Month during the metric conversion lecture.  “Now some of the sales people” according to Nate, “could extrapolate from 3.8 Liters to 1 gallon”, proving car salesman smarter than disc jockey’s, “but still haven’t a clue about how many cubic inches in a gallon.”  “What’s this world coming too?” I sympathized while thinking, “Say what?” 

Now it’s apparent why car salesmen appear so friendly.  I’m a pigeon.  Nate seeks actual information about a car’s inner workings.  Me?  All I really ask is to see a color chart, find out how good the radio is, and wonder if there’s anyway to get out of paying sales tax. “It’s blue, grey or tan, the radio works great and we want to stay in business so you’re going to pay the tax” comes the response followed by a walk to a little room where a paper is signed, a check written and I tell some guy I don’t want the extended warranty.  

Nate is three months in to his search and frustrated, I’m there about twenty minutes and behind the wheel.  And all because he really cared in school while you know who “never worked to his potential.” 

Not that I am now, or ever have been, a car guy.  A fact readily apparent once you realize that even with kids grown and gone, I still choose to travel the world in a mini-van. 

Being a car dork is a life-long thing.  Back in the teen-age world of chopped, channeled, lowered and louvered, with straight-eights, slant sixes, glass packs, Isky cams, Miss Hurst shifters and “way cool E.T.’s” I was more than comfortable “dragging Main” in my folks station wagon.  True, this caused many hours to be spent all by myself but loneliness was balanced out by the money-saving fact when I did hang with friends no one ever asked me to drive.