I’m Not a Car Guy

Growing up, I was a Chevy kid. I always liked Dale Earnhardt in NASCAR. The sport itself? Eh. But Dale Earnhardt the driver? Relentless — win by any means necessary — kind of guy. I liked that and admired the way he’d drive. He’d wreck somebody if he had to, in order to win. That’s why they called him “The Intimidator”. He drove the black #3 Chevy, the man of steel.

That’s the only time I’ve ever been on a car guy, though.

When I got my license, I just drove my grandmother’s 1991 Suzuki Sidekick around. I appreciated the hell out of it. For a while, it was reliable. But there was no air conditioner in it, and cupholders? Nope, nada. Summers were a bitch, but I guess I didn’t mind sweating. I considered it a personal sauna, like I was detoxing. I drove the thing around for a few years and was used to it, comfortable and all. I didn’t give a shit. It was a vehicle that got me from point A to point B. It also had pretty good gas mileage. Then the brakes went out in November 11, 2011. I drove a solid 20 miles on a highway with no brakes. Someway, somehow, under a mighty godlike cloud of luck, I only discovered the brakes were gone when the traffic was beginning to slow down near a stoplight and pulled over as fast as I could to stop the car completely.

On Wednesday, September 5, 2012, a couple of weeks before my 21st birthday, my family surprised me with a new car, the one I drive to this day: a 2012 Nissan Versa. Four words: I fucking love it. Keyless entry, automatic windows, air conditioning, cupholders, I get around 40 miles a gallon, it’s reliable and gets me from point A to point B. That’s what I want, people. That’s what I look for in a car. It’s my car and I love the damn thing. It’s not flashy, it’s not sporty, it’s just a damn badass vehicle that gets me around. That’s all I give a shit about. Driving a 1991 Suzuki Sidekick around for a few years of my life that lacked essential, modern items that a car should feature made me appreciate my 2012 Nissan Versa. I love it. Point, blank, bottom line.

Last Friday I drove my cousin Sarah’s Dodge Challenger. So, her husband Michael, 43-years-old, a guy that I consider an older brother to me, truly a role model for sure, is all pumped up, thinking that I’m going to be blown away by it and that I’m going to officially become a bigtime car guy and vie for this vehicle. Well, I drove it, and it felt like the pedal’s sensitivity was maxed out because by barely pushing the accelerator we were off and running.

Awesome car — the Dodge Challenger — but y’know what?

I prefer my Versa.

I’m just not a car guy.

Sports? Football? Basketball? MMA? Technology? Gaming? Competition? Hell yeah!

Cars? Not so much. I love my car — it does what I need it to do. But that’s all I want. Nothing more, nothing less.

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