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Carver Communications - Index

Carver Communications - 3.1.09 - Index

By Cathey Meyer
Buy American?
As the ‘Big Three’ auto-makers
await installment payment #2 of their
multi-billion dollar bailout, I await the
request from the foreign automakers to
whine about their hard times—wait—
they are NOT whining. They are big boys
(and girls) who understand big business
and are coping in tough economic times.
This is not an endorsement of buying foreign
vehicles, it is simply an observation.
As an owner of both American and non-
American four wheel transportation, I am
currently operating a German-type vehicle
that, even under the best driving conditions,
recently required the equivalent
of two monthly house payments to repair
after about 60,479 miles (Or according to
my kilometer mileage conversation chart,
97331.515 km—barely broken in
explained the manual in three languages.).
None-the-less, I was vehicleless
for a few days and had the ‘pleasure’
of driving a good ol’ American piece of
metal.
The longer I marinate in life, the
more particular I become about the stuff
in my life. Since my day is spent in a
minimum 40 mile (64.37 km) commute, I
enjoy the finer things in my vehicle of
travel. To the American’s credit, there are
many fine luxury automobiles in which to
travel, but sadly, the loaner I received was
not one of them. I now have a huge clue
as to part of the problem with our ‘Big
Three’.
As I walked the rental car lot with
my ‘pleased to serve me representative’
the first words out of her mouth were
“You don’t look like you will fit in a subcompact.”
That’s the way to work a tip.
Aside from my girth, I explained to her I
was not paying for the vehicle and she
did not need to work me over for an
upgrade. She did take pity upon my
‘wide load’ and took the liberty to
upgrade me to a vehicle bigger than a
breadbox.
I did not know I was a car-snob
(as my significant other referred to me
when I called in tears about having to
March 1, 2009 REAL ESTATE NEWSLINE 7
operate manual-roll-down-windows and
busted a perfectly manicured nail) but I
proudly will strut that title. Since when
did the laziest population on Earth decide
manual windows were still acceptable?
We no longer exert energy to change the
channel on the television—why are we
doing bicep curls to get fresh air in a
car?! To calm my nerves from the
exhaustion of rolling down the window, I
decide to turn on the radio.
Please note--the subcompact
cars of American-made-pride do not have
anything relating to a stereo system. If
memory serves me, my transistor radio
from 1974 projected more sound than the
single speaker hidden somewhere behind
a genuine plastic consol. With safety first
in mind, I pulled to the side of the road to
adjust my music maker. Much to my surprise,
there was no FM radio—only AM
reception. Even with the volume fully
turned up (yes that too was a manual
effort) I could barely make out the voices
coming through the hidden ‘speaker’. As
I peddled to reenter traffic, the radio
effort was mute—literally. You could not
even hear static crackling through the
air—just the rush of fresh freeway air.
As I coasted along the great
Texas highway system, I was grateful for
my extra girth as that was the only thing
holding my ‘car’ on the asphalt. As massive
American-made-luxury SUV’s
zipped past me, the little car that couldn’t
was constantly swishing over to the road
shoulder from contrail winds. I hit a pothole
not long into my journey and created
an instant sunroof bashing my hard
head through the protective metal top. At
least I now had head room to navigate the
loan rearview mirror.
My arrival home was a blessed
event as I managed to navigate the mean
streets of downtown with NASCAR efficiency
at 12 mph. Pulling into my parking
space, I realized I could actually fit
two of these fine American compacts
between the lines. Most likely, I could
purchase two of these fine American
compacts, brand new, for the price of my
current repair bill. Foolishly, I attempted
to lock the valuable piece of tin with my
remoteless key fob. Yes, locking and
unlocking was a manual event. I had to
crawl through the compact space and
punch down all four door locks. I then
had to study the owner’s manual to make
sure I understood how to unlock the door.
In three languages, I figured out how to
insert the key and turn to the right to disengage
the door security feature.
For 48 hours, I attempted to be a
green, fuel efficient, support American
subcompact automobile operator. When
the gas gauge hit E way too fast, I pulled
in to fill-her-up and seven gallons, $14.00
later, I was peddling along again. As
much as I want to be pro-American, I
think I will choose another product to
tout as my Proudly Made in the USA
voice. If I can figure out what is not manufactured
in China, Indonesia, Mexico
and compass points beyond, I will make
that grand endorsement. Food products
have a real appeal, but maybe not peanuts
. . . . My phone is ringing . . . the Germans
are calling.