Death of a Chrysler LeBaron
The Last Ride of the Great LeBaron
My grandfather's old Chrysler LeBaron died a cruel, horrible, and smoky death today. Since it was not accelerating past thirty five miles per hour or so, I limped it down to the service station first thing this morning to have its transmission checked out.
After several hours of waiting on pins and needles to hear the prognosis, I was informed by the mechanic that the LeBaron's "turbo" had failed and that about a dozen other things were in the process of going out, too. The mechanic politely informed me that it was absolutely not worth it to have the LeBaron fixed and that I should either sell it third party or donate it to charity.
As it turned out, the decision about what to do with the LeBaron was made for me on the drive home from the mechanic when the car began billowing smoke out of its tailpipe! So I pulled over as quickly and as safely as I could, since I didn't want my car to catch on fire, and I called a tow truck to drag my grandfather's car back home to await its ultimate fate.
(On an annoying/interesting side note, while I was trying to find a safe place to pull over, a cyclist riding near me screamed the following into my window at the top of her lungs, "You're killing me!" I presume she meant the billowing smoke and not my reaction to her annoying and presumptuous attitude. It was certainly emblematic of the Central Coast mindset to say the least. Rather than mind her own business and give me the benefit of the doubt, this lady felt obligated to propagate her world view, via her lungs, into my car. Rude is not quite the word. I can think of several more words, but nothing I would be particularly proud to post. (Perhaps she needs a refresher course in John Rawls's theory of Mutual Disinterest.)
So I watched with romantic nostalgia as my grandfather's old car was towed home in a most undignified manner (see below). I realize a car is just a car, but it was something tangible that made me think of my WWII pilot grandfather every time I drove it. (He bought the car because the instrument panel reminded him of an airplane cockpit, he said.) So the presence of time is particularly poignant tonight as I mourn the LeBaron, but even more so as I mourn and remember my grandfather.
For Further Reading:
A Theory of Justice by John Rawls
