The Tease

I’m blithely pecking away on my keyboard when a promotion emanates from the radio. I shudder and wonder if I should unlist my phone number. Too late. The call comes. “What day do you want to take me to the car show?”

Cat is selectively reclusive in her personal life, so most people who know her, know her through her business executive persona. The initial impression of an exceptionally attractive woman is quickly replaced by that of a penetrating intelligence and imperturbable cool that can easily overpower you in the board room. She appears faultless in every respect. I know otherwise.

Her Achilles heel is cars. Cat knows less about them than I know about thermonuclear physics. She enlists me to help make her lease selection every two years. Unfortunately, her thorough nature dictates that this analytical process commence a couple months after taking delivery on the present vehicle. She insists that it include the annual car show, an event I equate to a prostate exam.

“You don’t need to go. You get the same car every time, anyway.”

“Don’t be fatuous. The last three were a Camry, Solara and Lexus.”

“They’re all Camrys. Just get another one.”

“Go with me.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll take you to the Bahamas for a long weekend of hot monkey sex,” she proffered facetiously.

“I have my own monkey.”

“How about if I just slap the crap out of you?”

“Preferable to the car show.”

“Okay, seriously, I’ll cook you a nice dinner and top it off with Graeter’s.”

“The last alternative sounded less dangerous.”

“We’re going.”

“There’s no way I’m attending that circus again. So just get it out of your mind.”

So that’s how I wound up scrounging around for some discounted tickets. What did I have against the show? Couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

For one thing, it’s a hassle. Finding reasonable parking downtown, wending through oblivious crowds – not my idea of a good time. But, that’s not the deal breaker.

It’s a family affair. This was not a deterrent when parents had some inkling about acceptable behavior and discipline. But, that ship sailed some time ago.

My first test of a vehicle is sitting in it. No small feat if the cabin is crammed with unruly urchins jumping up and down on the seats. Does anyone have a clue that the purpose of this exercise is to evaluate cars for potential purchase? Even today, ten-year-olds are unlikely to secure ample credit to make such a buy. If you want to amuse your feral offspring, take them to Kings Island. Otherwise, clear a path for those who paid to evaluate the products. Yes, I can wait for them to evacuate. If I don’t mind sitting on the sticky patina of spilled soft drink and chewing gum the little guttersnipes left behind. Still, I can live with this.

Could my aversion be based, in part, upon a fear of an impulse buy? I’m there for Cat, but am still exposed to temptation. I’ve evolved beyond the point of feeling a need for a status symbol, macho icon or other vacuous compensation. But…

It’s none of these. It dawns on me that what I find most disconcerting is that the show is a big tease. I invariably see two or three vehicles that have me anxiously clamoring for my checkbook, only to find out that they are “concept models.” Not production models that are available for acquisition. Idealized concept models that bristle with intriguing features and amenities. The very best of what could be, gauging and tantalizing the appetite.

Most of these evoke slavering responses. Logic would seem to dictate that they would quickly progress to market. So it would seem, but my psyche bore the scar tissue of high expectations, dating back as far as the Mako Corvette.

You may hasten to point out that concept models do find their way to the showroom floor, in some instances. True, but it takes years and the versions that survive the gauntlet of corporate mediocrity are so watered down, they bear only a sparse semblance to the epitomized original.

I gained more insights after getting into the rapid prototyping business. At a car show, I was mooning over an especially alluring concept car when it occurred me. The sinuous curves of the bodywork and interior, and the intricate mechanisms could not easily be duplicated with mass production. This was a handcrafted creation. Production machinery and procedure would flatten out those curves and simplify or eliminate the innovative features.

“Friends.” A television show that led a generation of young people to think that life would be living in a very posh Manhattan apartment (that you somehow afford with an undemanding minimum wage/effort job) with all exceedingly attractive neighbors who party all the time.
Imagine the disappointment when they’re toiling evenings and weekends at Steak n’ Shake, and live next to Iggy the Wonderslug, who has a 900-watt sound system, but only one CD (Metallica). Welcome to the real world. That’s how I feel when I walk into a car dealer after attending the car show.