The Opamobile

We all have vehicles that are somewhat necessary to get us back and forth to the world that surrounds us. Some of these cars, trucks, minivans or motorcycles are a statement about who we are, what is important to us and you can tell a lot about somebody by the car they drive. It is a truth that is inescapable.
Let's look at a few examples. A forty-five year old man who drives a Corvette is probably going through a mid-life crisis, is having issues with his operating equipment downstairs, and has probably recently left his wife to pursue 19 year-olds who might be impressed with that shiny slick red mortgage payment and don't know about the little blue pill he has to take yet.
The minivan screams soccer mom, two to three kids in tow, a back area filled with groceries and a routine that never leaves a five mile radius, except during the annual summer vacation, when that baby gets cranked up and locked in at 65 MPH on cruise control. The neverending sounds of "Are we there yet," muffled out by the ear-numbing decibel level of the headphones as the two kids in the backseat take a moment from "touching each other" to mercifully watch the DVD for a three minute span of pure driving bliss. (that really wasn't a sentence, but you get the idea).
A big beefy truck with a Hemi probably means that the guy driving it wants to empty one of those gigantic tankards of unleaded annually just so he can impress the guy at the local drive through--man those commercials are funny. That thing does indeed "got a hemi." (sorry Matt).
A Lexus, Infinity, BMW, Mercedes, et al really just tells the world that you have too much stinking money to begin with, and let's face it--the rest of us are just jealous. Thank goodness there are plenty of folks out here in the greater Scottsdale area with the resourses to remind the rest of us that they do have too much stinking money. God bless you all.
And one of those hybrid cars probably means less about saving money as it does about making a political statement about doing your part of saving the environment. Nothing like waiting six months to plunk down an extra 15K on a souped-up Corolla so that you can save $100 a year on gas and tell the world that you are doing your part by driving your Prius--way to go Dad.
And lastly, one of those ridiculous Hummers is a combination of the Lexus guy, Hemi guy and Corvette guy. Needs validation for his shortcomings, but has a load of cash to shove in the rest of our faces, and loves to flush gas down the toilet. But man do they look cool. We only see about 200-300 of these a day out here. "Sorry that we didn't save any gas for you kids, but Grampa G sure tried with that Prius of his."
Then you enter my world--that's right, the world of the Opamobile. Many of you may not know who Opa was, but he was my maternal grandfather and probably the finest person I have ever known. (that, by the way was in no way sarcastic--I realize that I have to point that out, due to my own posting history, but Opa was a true gentleman in every sense of the word). He passed away two years ago and I will probably go into more detail about him on Dec. 26th (the anniversary of his passing), but for today, let's talk about the ride.
I inherited the Opamobile nearly two years ago, and at the time, Kim and I were surviving on one beat-up Saturn with no functioning air conditioning in Arizona for a family of four. Believe me, it was a welcome gift, and I drove it cross-country from Daytona to Phoenix in two nights with Shari. Originally, Kim enjoyed the splendor that was this shimmery blue Buick beauty, but eventually we were able to move up to the future Soccer mom and purchase a minivan last year. We traded in the Saturn (and ran before they started that thing back up) and I took over the '98 Century.
I left out the perception that belies a '98 Buick, but each of you can probably come up with your own. This vehicle of mine conjures up an image of one of two things--either an elderly couple who believe in America (probably former GM employees quite frankly), and refuse to drive anything else. Or somebody so taken by that Tiger Woods guy that they actually believe he drives a Buick, and feel that they need to be more like him to improve their golf game. I am neither, but I have the pleasure of cruising for chicks in this thin slice of heaven 365 days a year.
Not that I am one to mess with good-old American ingenuity, but I just can't figure out how difficult it can be to make fully-functioning power windows. I have had the car for less than two years, and have had to fix, replace, or temporarily adjust all four windows (two of them twice now). The beauty of inheriting a car is that you can avoid a car payment, but if every other month you have to drop $450 to fix a power window that won't stay up, you kind of lose that benefit.
Right now, with the Christmas season in full-force and our holiday budget maxed out, I have two back windows propped up with a folded piece of paper jammed between the window and the housing in a foolhearty attempt to keep them from sliding down as I drive to work at 6AM in the 35 degree desert morning. Usually they make it two miles or so before they return to their more comfortable setting halfway open. My father-in-law will be here next week, and we will permanently shut them this time. I don't need him to spend another entire afternoon travelling to various Phoenix junkyards trying to repair these damn windows again. He probably will anyway, but there is nothing I can do to change Poppy-Joe. He is a determined fellow who needs to fix things to survive. Speaking of which, I probably should get my list of repairs/projects ready for him. If he has nothing to do, he will start creating his own projects and there are few things more frightening than a Poppy-Joe without an agenda. Kim, if you are reading this, please for the love of God, finalize that list now--we are quickly running out of time.
Anyhow, if you see me cruising around town in that lightning rod of sexy with the back windows down and the Sirius sports radio cranked up, realize that not every vehicle is what it appears. There is more truth than lies in the soft underbelly of the stereotypes that we have created in our minds for those around us. Perhaps there is a 63 year-old Asian grandmother on dialysis driving that Hummer after all.