“To attract men, I wear a perfume called ‘New Car Interior.’”
– American comedian Rita Rudner.
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That new car smell. It’s intoxicating. Should be considered a controlled substance.
It tempted me last week, but I’m in this long-term relationship with a 2009 Chevy Tahoe. We’re celebrating 237,000 miles together this month. And to borrow love song lyrics from The Carpenters, “So many roads to choose, and yes, we’ve only just begun.”
New car dealerships are fun though. Everyone I saw at the luxury brand car store last week was wearing a sports coat and tie. And they was just the mechanics. A coffee pot is a standard fixture at most auto dealership customer lounges. But the upscale lounge at this one approached a soda fountain, coffee shop, and short-order bistro.
I was along for the ride and a day of shopping and dining in the big city. But this dealership even offered to pick up my friend’s car at home (70 miles away), leave a loaner, and return the car once the work was done.
You miss out on little perks like that when a 16-year-old Tahoe that’s traveled the equivalent of nine and a half times around the world calls your driveway “home.” My trusty steed comes with unique challenges, but I know what I’m dealing with.
The dealership loaner with a window sticker approaching what I paid for my house came with a steep learning curve and no idea what to do with it. Things like a small shift lever on the console that anyone driving a car dating back three presidential administrations would assume operated like any other shifter to determine direction of travel.
Think again. “Drive” required an ever so slight and delicate nudge to the left. A similar tender touch back rendered reverse travel. “Hey, we’ve got this,” I thought. “Park with this joy stick must be forward.” Wrong. Park was a completely separate button.
Once underway, 20 minutes later, the newest ultra-luxury car from dealership row began offering more chiming reminders than you could shake a non-shifting gear shift stick at. One, we presumed, was for any car coming too close. Another for any car in front and a third for … approaching vehicles of a different color, or that car trying to grab that good parking spot in front of TJ Maxx before you do?
Not to be outdone, my old Tahoe sounds an alarm when backing too close to an object. Like a car, a tree, a post, litter on the street, or the neighbor’s mailbox. And it will send alerts to the dash when I take off with a door open, a seat belt not fastened, almost out of gas, emergency brake on … and similar trivial emergencies.
The luxury loaner handled those situations in a completely different manner. The emergency brake? Just pretend it doesn’t have one. You can’t do anything about it anyway. It sets automatically when you find and touch the park button, and it releases once you figure out which way to nudge the faux shift lever to accidentally engage the drive position.
Shopping done, packages piled in the back, and you’re ready to roll? Don’t get in a hurry. The car absolutely refuses to start until everyone is seated, buckled in, wind-blown hair adjusted, makeup fixed, attitudes adjusted, and all doors closed and locked. Period.
This one was also a hybrid. The motor would quit running at every red light, then restart with a small lurch when the accelerator was applied. Reminded me of my old ’51 Chevy in high school. It was way ahead of its time. Sometimes quitting at red lights as well. The only difference was that it didn’t restart until I got out and tweaked the carburetor.
My biggest takeaway from the last week? This was the first car that told me what it would do or not. And just how it would do it. Or not. No amount of begging, pleading, or threats changed any operational procedure. It was the car’s way or no way.
It made me laugh, though. Thinking about my father. Dad scoffed at any car with convenience or fanciness. In an era when cars came in only two or three models, he chose options with his checkbook. The cheapest model with a six-cylinder engine, standard shift transmission, power nothing, and no air conditioning. His idea of luxury was splurging for the extra cost AM radio. About $35 back then. Yes sir! First class all the way.
Dad was quick to point out that the extra cost options meant expensive repairs when something malfunctioned. It was a big day when, mostly at Mom’s insistence, Dad bought his first air-conditioned car. Oh, it was still the base model Chevrolet Biscayne, six-cylinder engine, standard shift transmission, power nothing with a radio. But it had factory air. He used it sparingly, however. “Takes extra gas to run that power stuff,” he cautioned.
Dad wouldn’t know what to do with a car that told him what to do, or did anything for him. I’m not sure I handled it that well myself. But, the best part of last week’s luxury car experience lingers in one aspect.
That intoxicating new car interior smell.
—Leon Aldridge
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Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.
© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2024. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.
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