Johnny Virgil: Gearheads in Training, Part 1
I love his writing.
Just to give you a little more background on our relationship with this car: We would drive it in the middle of February with the top down just for fun, the heat on full-blast, huddled in the bubble of hot air behind the windshield. We’d do donuts on the ice patches in the mall parking lot, trying to slide sideways and hit the dry pavement fast enough to put the car up on two wheels. In the summer, The Slug would sit on the back of the front seat and steer with his feet while I worked the pedals with my hands based on his commands.
(Dad, if you’re reading this, take off your coat and sit down. There’s no need to drive to my house just to tell me what a disappointment I am and then take away my car keys for the rest of my life. I know it was horribly irresponsible, and I’m sorry. Also, driving that way successfully is a lot harder than it sounds.)
Hand to God, my brother’s first car was my mom’s old ’72 Cutlass Supreme — just like that one: blue with a white interior, except our’s wasn’t a convertible.
It had that same 350 engine — and an 8-track! I learned to drive in it and when my brother went to college IT WAS MINE. But then my mom sold it and bought some laaaame 80-something Cutlass Supreme when I was a senior. By then Olds had totally neutered their cars and the new Supreme was just a stupid Mom Car I “got” to drive.
The ’72 ended up in the hands of some guy who later restored it to its former glory and still drives it around my hometown to this day. ::sob::