The Chevette

"I really think you should get a Chevette."

That was what my Aunt Vicki suggested as an idea for my first car.

"Yeah, right."

That was my response as a 15-year old kid back in 1990.

"I would look like a total idiot," I said. "No way am I EVER going to own a Chevette."

She chuckled and said, "Oh, I think it would be really cool," and then chuckled some more.


**


Thankfully for my teenage ego I did not purchase a Chevette. I wound up buying my grandma's rust-colored, four-door, 1981 Toyota Corolla. Not a huge leap up on the cool scale from a Chevette, but still...

That car was like a Timex watch; it took a lickin' and kept on tickin'. I worked it over like an alum of Abu Ghraib. I busted an axle, bent the frame, warped the head and discovered several gallons of pooled water in the trunk. I don't remember ever taking it in for an oil change and I certainly never did that job myself. And yet it just kept bouncing back, taking me wherever I pleased and accepting whatever punishment I doled out.

It was a nearly-perfect first car. I made 16 monthly $100 payments to my grandparents and every single one was worthwhile.


**


Fast-forward nearly 20 years later. My most recent car, a 1999 Chevy Metro, has become temperamental. It doesn't like to start when it rains. Or if it has rained within the last six or seven hours. Or if it's a particularly dewy morning. Or if the Farmer's Almanac says this might be a rainy month.

As you might imagine, this can be very inconvenient. And irritating. And frustrating. Especially when you consider that this car has given me eight sturdy years of service. And it runs neck-and-neck with the aforementioned '81 Corolla in the race to be the favorite car I've ever owned.

But the life I lead requires that I have a car that works both in sunshine and in precipitation. Thankfully, a multi-pronged solution was made aware to me.


**


My friend Judson told me that his mom was getting ready to sell a couple of vehicles. He said they would be available at a "family discount" if I was interested. Considering the fact that my current car was hydrophobic and I had a son who was nearing driving age himself, I expressed my interest. He said that she was selling an early '90s Buick that ran smoothly but had a lot of miles. And he said that she was selling a 1976 Chevy Chevette that had only 40,000 original miles and had been used to teach himself and his siblings how to drive. I told him I was interested in both, thinking I would hedge my bets against my current car and have a cheap alternative for my son to drive when he was ready. But when Judson got back to me, his mom had already sold the Buick. He asked if I was still interested in the Chevette at the low, low price of $300. At that price, I just couldn't pass it up.

He drove it up from his mom's place in Pratt, KS and arrived at my place on a Sunday afternoon. It was a stunning orange marvel. The shape and color of the car reminded me of an orange Skittle. He had put on brand new whitewall tires and and a new pair of windshield wipers. It was a two-door with a hatchback and beige interior. The seats were faux leather and the steering wheel felt as big as an 18-wheeler's.

Being a product of the oil crisis '70s, it got 30 miles to the gallon. The emergency brake didn't work and when it was hot outside it wouldn't go into reverse. The radio seemed to work but the speakers didn't. It was a four-speed with no passenger side mirror and no rear defrost.

And I absolutely loved it.


**


When my kids first saw it, they picked up on my enthusiasm and they loved it, too. They wanted to ride around in it all the time.

But then I started dropping off and picking up David from high school. And football practice. And all of a sudden, he was meeting me out in the parking lot rather than near the entrance to the locker room. I asked him what he was doing clear out here and he said he was just making it easier on me to pick him up. I told him he didn't need to do that and he reluctantly grinned and said that he was a little embarrassed being picked up in this car.

I laughed to myself and decided I loved this car even more. And I told him he'd better get used to it because this is what he was going to be driving in the not-so-distant future.


**


Sitting at a light, I noticed a guy in the car next to me was giving the Chevette the once over. He rolled down his window and said to me, "Boy, they sure don't make 'em like that anymore, do they?"

A convertible full of high school kids was in the left turn lane when I pulled up. One kid had been eyeing me for about 30 yards until I came to a stop. I heard him as he leaned toward his buddy and said, "I want THAT car."

After picking David up from practice one day, he chuckled and told me about the reaction one of the football managers had when seeing my car: "That is a pimp car." Feel free to interpret that in whatever manner you choose.

One of the special needs guys that lives in my apartment complex mentioned this as he walked by one day: "I really like that car. What year is it? Is it a '74? Oh, it's a '76? Man, that's a great car."

These anecdotes only complement the vast number of incidents where people have been staring at my car. I've never experienced anything like it before. I never would have expected. it.


**


I was wrong. I DID end up owning a Chevette. But I was partially right, too. I know many of the stares I get are because I look like an idiot. But Aunt Vicki was right, too; it's pretty cool. And we'll see what David thinks once he starts driving it. He might give in like me and think it's pretty cool, too.