Notes from a Walkman Junkie: Spatula On Wheels
Spatula On Wheels
I am tired, and not just average run-of-the-mill tired. I mean wake up cold and confused on your living room floor tired. Incidentally, this is precisely how I awoke the other day to find my pet bunny, Edgar (of bunny hooker/cocaine parties fame), staring at me… judging me. Eventually, I was able to peel my weary bones up off the floor and drag myself into work where I was peacefully enjoying the handsome tunes of The Avett Brothers. When their song Tear Down The House began to play, my thoughts turned to my first car, a VW Jetta, which I loved dearly.
My Jetta was not brand new and as is the case with most cars that have been around the block, so to speak, it had it’s share of issues, most of which were of the mild cosmetic variety. For instance my passenger front window would slowly slide down any time the car was in motion or someone talked about it happening… or looked at it… or thought about looking at it. Luckily, I have the mad repair skills of a fastidious neurosurgeon, and came up with the most subtle and dare I say, obvious solution to ‘fix’ the matter. I jammed a giant white rubber spatula in the base of the window, stood back, and said, “Ah, perfect.” I found that not only was this the most logical and clever fix-it tool, but it also made my car exponentially easier to spot in a crowded parking lot. There were a myriad of other little quirky flaws as well. One of the windshield wipers would flip straight out to the side at the most inconvenient times — you know, like every single time I switched them on. There were also kinks with the ceiling light in the car and it had a knack for dropping and dangling down, often, as if to make a dramatic gesture, doing so after anyone said something particularly shocking or asinine.
My little car was not exactly what one might consider powerful, either. If I ever happened to be toting around more than two passengers at any given time, a simple hill could become the bane of it’s existence. On more than one occasion I had little choice but to matter-of- factly suggest to my passengers, “Some of you bitches are going to have get out.” as my poor Jetta barely slugged up the sloped road. The Jetta’s most memorable ‘special’ car feature, however, was the sticking horn. That is to say that without any contact whatsoever the horn would randomly turn on and stay on for whatever amount of time my little ‘touched’ car found satisfactory; which, as it happens, was always a decisively long-ass time. Opportunely, these horn sticking sessions most often occurred when I was sneaking out in the wee hours of the night or otherwise generally up to no good, like when I decided to toilet paper a friend of mine’s car and, to add insult to injury, his cat. Everything was going as planned, I had finished stealthily wrapping the car… and cat… with ninja-like sneakery and was now making my way to my car through the dark yard. It was only upon reaching my car that I realized my tragic blunder of dropping my car keys somewhere in the yard’s giant black abyss.
I frantically dropped down on all fours and began speedily crawling around the yard, while patting the ground in search of the elusive keys. It was at this point, that my friend and object of my little prank, emerged from his house to find me busily creeping around his yard like a jackass. Fortunately for me, not only was he nice enough not to question my crackbrained schemes, but even got down on the ground with me to help track my keys. Once the keys were found, my genial friend’s only request of me was that I drive away as quietly as possible so as not to wake his parents. Naturally, I agreed to this seemingly simple request and gingerly started my car. It was of course at this moment, that the horn proceeded to blast with a vengence and continued to do so as my friend looked at me in disbelief of my rude and blatant defiance. At this point I could only dispiritedly raise my hands hold-up style to convey my utter ineffectualness…and get the hell out of Dodge.
I currently drive a VW Beetle and though it is cute, (apparently cute enough to inspire a weird dream where my father informed me, “You may get a parking ticket because your car is too adorable to park there.”) I will always miss the spastically odd little Jetta of my youth. I am attaching a wonderful and appropriate song by the Silver Jews, “Honk If You’re Lonely.