Saturday, January 17, 2009

Cars Part 11: 1993 Cadillac Deville

1993 Cadillac Deville—With my dad deciding to die and all, my mom was left with all his shit and nowhere to put it.

Among some of Dad’s crap that needed to go were three vehicles.

One of those vehicles was a 1975 Chevrolet Corvette.

The two other vehicles were both Cadillacs.

Dad really liked his Cadillacs.

I really liked his Corvette!

Mom wouldn’t let me have the Corvette because she is mean, and she needed the newer Caddy for herself until she could get something smaller and more sensible for an old lady like her.

What happened to the Corvette?

My mother had one of my dad's car buddies sell it at auction.

Probably got squat for it too.

But I wasn't gonna fuss and fight one iota about what Mom wanted to do with any of Dad's stuff.

Told her to do whatever she thought was best, and she'd hear nothing negative from me...for a long while...until I would bitch about it here!

I've always loved 'Vettes. Pops had a '66 and this one during his life, and I really wanted this one, but I kept my mouth shut at the time...until here and now...where I can whine and cry like a spoiled little girl!

It's just as well I didn't get it, though, because I probably would have wrapped it around a light pole.

I imagine that's what Mom had in mind as well.


All I got was the front license plate!

So, that left me with the 1993 Cadillac Deville.

But, before I go into long and exhaustively boring detail about my new Caddy, I should remind you people that I am still driving Granny’s 1983 Olds Delta 88…and it’s gotta go too!

I put a For Sale sign on it and park in out in front of my house.

Soon, a guy about my age comes-a-calling, and decides to buy the car.

I show him the car and tell him the truth about it, because lying and trying to screw people over is not in my nature.

He tells me the car will be for his malingering and recalcitrant son who has just totaled a fancy car dad bought for him. He tells me his college age son needs wheels, but that he’s gonna get a piece of shit like Granny’s car instead, and he’ll have to work on it himself if it breaks down.

Dad is teaching his punk-ass son a lesson, sounds like to me, and he’s gonna use my car as a learning tool!

What do I care?

As long as he hands me the correct amount of $100 dollar bills, I’m good.

So, the dad buys Granny’s car, and shuffles on down the road.

Good riddance.

A month later, I receive another letter from the city, stating Granny’s Olds was found abandoned, and that I would be responsible for towing and storage fees if I still had any interest in the car.

Funny shit!

Two of my former vehicles were abandoned by their new owners…probably because they didn’t listen to me and do what I told them to do when the cars started acting up.

Either that, or they just didn’t give a fuck.

Well…I didn’t give a fuck either, and I once again tore up and shit-canned the official state-sponsored document…all the while grinning sheepishly to myself.

Anyhoo…on to the Cadillac.

It rode like a dream.

It was so comfortable, I could feel the herniated and slipped and mis-aligned discs in my back slide back into place when I sat down in the car after a long day at work.

The air conditioner didn’t work, as usual, but I was so accustomed to not having the cool breath that I didn’t even care.

It had a fuel injected 4.9 liter V-8 that would really haul ass!

I didn’t really do anything to it other than the normal wear and tear items, and I don’t have any wild or clever stories to tell you about it.

See, at this point in my life, I work, eat, sleep a little bit, shit, shower, and shave every now and then…and that’s about it.

I drove the Caddy to King’s Island with the family once, to New Albany once to meet with an author, and to southern Indiana once just to explore and take pictures.

Pretty boring stuff, actually.

The car never stranded me or failed to start.

It was my daily driver for six years, and served me well, but with 191,000 miles on it, it was getting a little long in the tooth.

It was time to put Dad’s beloved Cadillac out to pasture and get something newer, smaller and more economical.

What that would be, and how I would pay for it, was still up in the air.

I didn’t have any family hand-me-downs conveniently waiting in the wings, so I was on my own this time around.

I sold the Caddy to a needful musician for $20 and a case of Newcastle Brown Ale.

I am confident my father would see the humor in the deal.

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