You can do what you want if you’re driving a Bentley, a Lexus, an obnoxiously large SUV that cost more to fill up per year than the house I grew up in. But if you’re driving a Toyota with a missing hub cap and a trash bag for a back driver’s side window, please please please don’t let anybody see you vogue-ing like you’re a gangster and your ride is the viciousness. I was eating lunch outside yesterday, heard that familiar bass beat from the parking lot behind me, somebody’s bumpin’ some Kanye. I turn around to see who’s disturbing my repast, it’s this clown in a Corolla, driving with one hand on the wheel, leaning back on the center console like he just knows these ho’s better have his money.
I’m not making fun of Corollas or people who drive them. My broke ass doesn’t even have a car of my own right now, and when I did have a car it was a 1987 Volvo station wagon. I loved the way it drove but the sunroof leaked, only one of the back doors opened and if you rolled down one of the windows there was a good chance you would never get that bad boy up again. Every time I gave somebody a ride somewhere I have to do a ten-minute flight attendant’s presentation on the emergency exit procedures and “stuff you can’t touch or this mofo might break down”. The saddest day of my college life was noticing I had better luck meeting girls in a nice pair of New Balances than my car. Picking girls for dates up was always precarious, I may have invented speed dating, some of my rendezvous’ were done in record time .
“…yeah, I know, I’m happy we’re finally getting together too, I’ve seen you checking me out from across the classroom… so which one’s yours? Oh… oh…hm. Uh, you know I totally forgot I told Keisha I’d help her with her chemistry homework tonight, afraid I’m gonna have to take a raincheck. Thanks for inviting me out though, you’re really sweet…”
“No, I can’t be sweet baby, cause a sweet man would never tell you to get the f*ck out. I think you need to step. Not through that door though, that one’s stuck…”
People tell me I’m a nice guy, I have a hard time taking credit for that compliment. You kinda have no choice but to be nice to people when you drive an 87 Volvo Station wagon; with a car that old you never know when you’re going to need a ride. Plus you don’t want to piss people off, get em started making fun of your wheels. I had the kind of friends who could make an evening of talking smack about my poor car leave a brother absolutely dumbfounded…
“Wow, I can’t believe Kenny just did a half-hour special on my Volvo, Kenny needs church and I need to get my life together…”
The difference between me and Corolla-dude is that I knew my car was a “piece”; you’d be hard pressed to catch me profiling in that joker, I was usually too busy praying I would’t have to fix anything this week.
I think Corolla-dude’s lean was what bothered me the most. The lean signifies that you’ve made it, you’ve arrived. It’s never really appropriate but at the point where that lean is at least acceptable, the world is kind of yours, and you’re not really driving as much as you’re surveying your territory. That makes sense if you’re driving something that signifies prosperity, a vehicle someone else might actually want. But if you’re driving a dilapidated Corolla, you haven’t made it dog, you’re still on your way, with a lot of work to do yet. Even that’s alright; we all gotta start somewhere, but until you get there, think a little decorum and modesty might be in order. Let’s start by tucking that shirt in, putting both hands on the wheel and paying attention to what you’re doing, because if you still haven’t gotten around to replacing that missing hubcap, you sure can’t afford to have an accident. There now, doesn’t that feel better? And what do we say to the nice man? You’re welcome.
My name is Mike and nobody asked my opinion in the first place.
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