Cars Part 6: 1991 Chevrolet Silverado Pick Up Truck

1991 Chevrolet Silverado

I will not go into long and boring detail about my experiences during Operation Desert Shield/Storm, as it would not be relevant to the discussion we are currently having about automobiles.

It is sufficient to say, however, that after several months of sitting in damp, sandy, Middle Eastern holes, I made some promises to myself.

I will enumerate those promises to you now:

1—I would purchase a brand new pickup truck, straight off the dealer’s lot.
2—My new wife and I would purchase our own home.
3—My new wife and I would start our family and have children.

Upon my return to the United States, I began finishing my list in earnest.

I started working on task #3 within hours of my arrival back in Indianapolis.

#2 took a little longer, and was completed just before the birth of our first child.

#1 was accomplished within 2 days of my glorious and heroic homecoming.

I had my priorities.

My new truck was the most beautifullest vehicle I had ever seen.

It was a 1991 Chevrolet Silverado shortbed with a small-block fuel injected 350. It had all the bells and whistles, and would really haul the mail.

I loved that truck! I would wash it and wax it and pet it and talk to it.

Dork

At the time, I was still in possession of The Blue Bruise. It had been sitting for a while…undriven and looking forlorn with its caved-in quarter panel.

I sold it to Mike, a co-worker at Moogans, for the paltry sum of $500.

The transmission went out shortly thereafter.

I bet Mike thought I did it on purpose, or something, but I didn’t.

Better him than me, though.

My bride and I road-tripped to Chicago to see a Cubs game in my new truck. She loved the Cubs, and especially Ryne Sandburg.

Ryne Sandburg was my wife's other heart-throb.

I bet she wanted to date him at one point, but she couldn’t now because she was married to me and I would have none of it, so she had to settle for watching him play ball.

I didn’t really care about the Cubs a whole lot, because they lost all the time and baseball kinda sucks to watch on TV and it’s not violent enough, but it’s fun to go see in person because it’s a mellow way to spend a spring or summer day, and you can have cold frosty draft beers while doing it too!

I was more a Milwaukee Brewers fan, simply because of their name, and because anything from Wisconsin is cool…especially my beloved Green Bay Packers!







Anyhoo…we were like the only fancy pickup truck in Chicago at the time. We were cool Hoosiers defiling the Windy City with our badass truck!



Soon, we find out we are gonna be parents. A son will be arriving shortly, and we decide we better get off our asses and get us a home of our own, because living at my uncle’s estate was undesirable for the raising of children.

We get a house, and the baby comes right on time as scheduled. But now, we have a problem. The wife’s car, a 1985 Camaro, is kind of a turd, and the truck won’t do for hauling babies around.

We decide to trade in the truck for……………….gasp………………….a fucking 1994 Dodge Caravan!

Holy shit.

Anybody seen my testicles?

The sacrifices a man makes for his wife and kids are amazing, bordering on spectacular.

I didn't own the truck long enough to do anything to it bedsides change the oil a few times and install a new battery!

My dream truck was gone...replaced with a minivan.

I’m working nights now at a different place, The Warehouse, because I got fired at Moogans, which is another story entirely. Remind me to tell you about it sometime!

So...I’m driving the Camaro now.

God, I hated that car. It was in good shape actually…better than most of the cars I had ever owned. I just didn’t like it.

Maybe it was some pent-up rage or aggression or regret or I was begrudging something...

Who’s to say?

Certainly not me.

But, this blog is not about my wife’s automotive history, it is about mine, so I will not discuss the Camaro in depth.

I started looking for something to replace the Camaro that would be more of a family-type car.

That’s when I met a co-worker at The Warehouse. I’ll call him Tony. Tony just happened to have a car for sale, and it fit the bill.

Sorta.