What is it with me and car memories lately? What is it with me and cars period? I just caught a glimpse of my post Mother of Invention and was reminded of another car story.
When my brother sold the ’65 Impala I drove during my high school years, I had to get another car. The car I bought, a ’64 or ’65 Oldsmobile Jetstar 88 was an even bigger prize, let me tell you. I bought it under duress. I hated that car but that story is for another time.
If you click on this link: Oldsmobile Jetstar, you can take a peek at what I’m talking about. Problem is, mine looked NOTHING like the one in the picture. Nope, mine was white, and pretty much looked like something an old lady would drive. Hey wait, an old lady did drive it, which is why my dad thought it was a good idea to buy the car in the first place.
On with the story…one day while driving to work, for no apparent reason the windshield wipers on the car suddenly and quite simply came on and stayed on. After having a few mechanically-minded people take a look at the wiper problem, they determined that there was no good reason why that happened and no cheap way to fix it.
The solution, they determined, was to pop the hood and unplug the wipers. Quick, easy, cheap. Which meant, of course, if it happened to start raining while I was driving that gem of a car then I would simply pull over, get out of the car, pop the hood and connect the wipers, all in the pouring rain. Easy-peasy. Yeah, right. So I did…on numerous occasions, which is one of the reasons why I so didn’t like that car. It was just sort of embarrassing. What else can I say?
Something else that is embarrassing… before I stop writing this post, I must confess, I just remembered that the wiper issue actually occurred on the ’65 Impala. The Jetstar 88 that I drove, by-the-way, in case you didn’t know, shares its name with a tomato called Jetstar which made the whole hate-the-car thing even worse, had other problems all its own that I won’t go into at this time. Believe me when I say there are many more bad car memories tucked away in this brain of mine.
Until the next memory hits…