In a comment to my post a few days ago, Kaya mention that a friend of hers had a "great expensive car, last model Acura, equipped with all 21st century technology's wonders."
Well, that got me thinking (yes-s-s-s, thinking) about me and my vehicles.
When I returned from Poland in April and decided to buy another Suburban-type vehicle, I shopped around, looking at models from several manufacturers. One day, while stopping at a gas station, I saw a Lincoln Navigator. I thought it was a very attractive vehicle, so I went over to a Lincoln dealership and took one out for a test drive. I took it out a second time, too, and was seriously considering buying it. The Navigator is pure, indisputable, unadulterated, decadent luxury. Really beautiful, and filled with the latest technology.
Now, then, compare a Navigator to a Chevrolet Suburban. It also has all the amenities available in this, the 21st Century -- if you wish to have them. But, essentially, it looks like a vehicle designed for work, not like something made for someone who wants a four-wheel drive vehicle to show off, but has absolutely no use for one. In other words, it is not like a luxury-designed Lincoln Navigator.
The next day, the salesman called and gave me a time-honored sales pitch: "What can we do to put you into your Navigator?" Interpreted, this means, what can we do to get you to buy it?
I told him this -- exactly this -- because I have a bad habit of telling people the truth (at least ninety-nine percent of the time):
"I've been thinking about it, and a Navigator just isn't me. Too fancy. Too slick. Too many frills. I'd feel like a fool driving it. Thanks, for letting me take it out to test drive it, but I think I'll keep looking until I find a Chevrolet Suburban that I want."
I am not certain, but I doubt the salesman ever had heard anyone say that before. After all, their entire pitch is to get you to believe you and their product were born for each other. It goes like this: "That vehicle is you! It's got you written all over it! You! You! You!"
Well, that is the way it was (and is), but, in truth, I feel most at home among working class men. I can fit in with carpenters or Great Lakes sailors or bikers or police officers or you name the outfit, and I do not have to put on my chameleon suit.
Sitting in a bar in a Great Lakes port one night, I ended up next to a man I learned was a deckhand on an iron ore carrier. After about fifteen minutes of back and forth talk, he asked me, "What ship you off of?" You have got to believe that I took his question as a compliment. Another time, I had a similar incident with a motorcycle gang. I think I might have had an angel with me that night. Maybe, I will write about it another day.
The long and the short of it is that you often can discover a great deal about an individual -- man or woman -- by noting what type of vehicle he or she prefers to drive, not to mention the type of bar he or she frequents and the sort of people he or she sits next to in it.
You probably have learned a bit more about me through this post, as well. That is fine, but now it is your turn to tell all.