Car Envy

I drive an old Oldsmobile.  It isn't too old, but it is a 2001 model with over 100,000 miles on it.  Actually, when you think about how old it is, I find it remarkable that it has just over 100,000 miles on it and not more.  However, even better than being old and an Oldsmobile is that the car I drive is a MINIVAN.  I have four kids.  It really is no surprise that I drive a such a car.  But put MINIVAN and OLDSMOBILE in the same sentence, and that sentence just screams soccer mom or some other phrase that makes me cringe.

Someday, I plan on driving something more sporty, more fun, more in line with what I consider to be my personality.  I haven't looked around, considering I'll be wedded to the MINIVAN for years to come, but yesterday, for 45 seconds, I had a glimpse of the future.  A sleek sedan with heated seats and zero crumbs.  No Trader Joe's stickers on the windows, and I could actually see the floor, which was clean.  The brakes worked well, as did the accelerator, and the feel of the wheel in my hands was awesome.

Here's the story:

I was out running along a main drag near my home.  I happened by a long line of stores, some just opening, some still closed, and a Starbucks serving coffee to all the sleep deprived people that needed to drag themselves into work.  As I approached the corner, a little past Starbucks, I looked to the left.  There was a car that had front ended a mound of snow, and a driver trying to dig said car out.

"Do you need any help?" I shouted as I ran close.  "I'm not that strong, but I can do something."

"Well, yes.  Actually, if you get in and drive the car, I think I can push it out.  I just got rid of the last of the snow in front of the car."

"It's an automatic, right?  Then okay, I can do that," I said, as I hopped into the BMW.  I put the car in low, as instructed, and left the door open, partially so I could hear the guy when he was behind the car and partially so I wouldn't get trapped in a car.  I am a wary and cautious runner, after all.

"Go ahead and give it some gas," the man yelled.  I stepped on the accelerator, lightly, and we moved forward slowly.  I gave the car a bit more fuel, and we progressed further.  "Head that way," he hollered and I turned the car a bit to the right so as to maneuver it onto a clean street. 

Once the car was completely out, I placed the car in park, and exited the vehicle.

"Thanks," the man said. "I know it isn't fun stopping a run."

"Hey, you are welcome.  I got to help someone.  That's even better," I replied, as I ran off down the street.

Forty-five seconds at the most.

And now, I want a new car.

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