The Maternal Curse of Automotive Doom by John Walsh I have never owned a car with an operational dome light. You may wonder how that could happen to a charming, sensible, middle-aged Maui guy. My mom can explain it easily. Remember the fable of the ant and the grasshopper? The ant worked hard and saved for the winter. The way Mom told the story, two things became clear: 1. The ant is the good guy. 2. Her son is not the ant. The grasshopper did not work hard and save for the winter. He read detective novels at the beach. The ant tried to warn his wayward friend about responsibility and honest labor, but the grasshopper sang and laughed. So the grasshopper and I grew up with pathetic bankrolls. We drove boring familymobiles with busted cab lights, while the ant cruised in an ethereal silver Volvo. He did much better with women. Dome light difficulties continued with my first, very own car. It was a 1964 Volkswagen "Bug" and the bulb died as I drove home from the dealer. This was back in the days when I thought Volkswagens were the most dependable cars in the world. Almost everyone thought that at one time, because Volkswagen of America spent one hundred billion dollars on this "aw shucks" low-key advertising campaign where they practically inserted Volkswagens into Norman Rockwell paintings. The ads featured a homely, tenacious car that started in the snow and typically ran for 275,000 miles. This myth survived until the Japanese began to produce genuinely dependable cars. After a few years of comparison, Americans realized the truth: Volkswagens broke down at the drop of a clutch. I personally blew three Volkswagen engines, but the dome lights always blew first. After the deaths of my VW Bugs, I graduated from college and took an entry-level professional job with the Social Security Administration. I got to wear a tie and be one of those officious civil servants that everybody hates. To reflect my importance, I purchased a new Pontiac. As I drove home after closing the deal, the dome light mysteriously flickered and faded, never to illuminate or assist in this lifetime. I rented a late model Subaru in Seattle and the cab light worked for three days...seventy-two hours still stands as a personal best. I borrowed a Cadillac from a naive friend and returned it, showroom fresh, except for an expired dome light. She consulted two electricians and spent $600 re-wiring the car, before resigning herself to years of motoring in gloom. So I have spent my entire life in cars without ever having that light-bulb-over-my-head feeling. I have ushered friends blindly into the back seat and allowed them to sit on snorkels and Chinese food and jumper cables. New, used, foreign or domestic -- there is no escape from Mom's fable and the maternal curse of automotive doom. © 2002 by John Walsh. All rights reserved. Distribution via hyperlink, e-mail, disk, print, broadcast or any other form is prohibited under U.S. copyright law without express permission of the author. John Walsh moved to Hawaii from Seattle in 1986 and makes his living teaching deaf children for the Maui School District. John and his attractive, very tolerant wife enjoy traveling, snorkeling and lounging by the pool reading trashy novels. (And yes, they really have six cats who permit them to leave the house once a day to go to work. ) John has sold humor and features to numerous newspapers and magazines, including The Maui News, The Honolulu Advertiser, Seattle P-I, Seattle Woman, Sunday Woman, The Voice and Funny Times. You may send adoring fan mail or suitcases of krugerands to Mr. Walsh at jwalsh@mauigateway.com Read another piece by John in the Naked Humorists Archives. |
Mr. Wucky by Mike Whitney "Hell - whoa?" "Larry, it's Margot. Is that you?" "Yeth." "Why are you talking like that?" "Ah bit awe the tip of my tun." "Good heavens! How did you do that?" "Ah had a hawd attack getting a pawsquiption filled for Biabwa, dwove mysef to the ahspital, and pathed out in the caw. Mah head fell onto the steewing wheel and they heard mah hone." "Your hone? Oh, horn. That was lucky. I mean how awful. You're only, what, 39?" "Yeth. Ah fwat-wined an went into convulthons..." "And bit off the tip of your tongue?" "Yeth. And fwat-wined again." "Flatlined twice in one day? Larry, you need to change your lifestyle." "Wheely? You tink thow? " "Yeth, I mean YES!" "Ah can't wok for months." "What do you do?" "I pway the wottery. You don't know. Ah could get wucky." © 2002 by Mike Whitney. All rights reserved. Distribution via hyperlink, e-mail, disk, print, broadcast or any other form is prohibited under U.S. copyright law without express permission of the author. Born in Chicago, now lurking in the North Carolina hills, Mike Whitney has been self-medicating with short stories and songs since 1954, when a play he wrote at ten was produced for local radio. In 1970, Whitney began performing popular and original music in restaurants, clubs and coffeehouses. This behavior continues today. He and his wife are owned by two cats and the bank in Hayesville. He has two pieces coming out next year in anthology from Literary Popourri. Check out his web site for free music, story links and other goodies. Read another piece by Mike in the Naked Humorists Archives. |
Mr. Wucky by Mike Whitney "Hell - whoa?" "Larry, it's Margot. Is that you?" "Yeth." "Why are you talking like that?" "Ah bit awe the tip of my tun." "Good heavens! How did you do that?" "Ah had a hawd attack getting a pawsquiption filled for Biabwa, dwove mysef to the ahspital, and pathed out in the caw. Mah head fell onto the steewing wheel and they heard mah hone." "Your hone? Oh, horn. That was lucky. I mean how awful. You're only, what, 39?" "Yeth. Ah fwat-wined an went into convulthons..." "And bit off the tip of your tongue?" "Yeth. And fwat-wined again." "Flatlined twice in one day? Larry, you need to change your lifestyle." "Wheely? You tink thow? " "Yeth, I mean YES!" "Ah can't wok for months." "What do you do?" "I pway the wottery. You don't know. Ah could get wucky." © 2002 by Mike Whitney. All rights reserved. Distribution via hyperlink, e-mail, disk, print, broadcast or any other form is prohibited under U.S. copyright law without express permission of the author. Born in Chicago, now lurking in the North Carolina hills, Mike Whitney has been self-medicating with short stories and songs since 1954, when a play he wrote at ten was produced for local radio. In 1970, Whitney began performing popular and original music in restaurants, clubs and coffeehouses. This behavior continues today. He and his wife are owned by two cats and the bank in Hayesville. He has two pieces coming out next year in anthology from Literary Popourri. Check out his web site for free music, story links and other goodies. Read another piece by Mike in the Naked Humorists Archives. |
Mah head fell onto the steewing wheel and they heard mah hone. |
The Maternal Curse of Automotive Doom by John Walsh I have never owned a car with an operational dome light. You may wonder how that could happen to a charming, sensible, middle-aged Maui guy. My mom can explain it easily. Remember the fable of the ant and the grasshopper? The ant worked hard and saved for the winter. The way Mom told the story, two things became clear: 1. The ant is the good guy. 2. Her son is not the ant. The grasshopper did not work hard and save for the winter. He read detective novels at the beach. The ant tried to warn his wayward friend about responsibility and honest labor, but the grasshopper sang and laughed. So the grasshopper and I grew up with pathetic bankrolls. We drove boring familymobiles with busted cab lights, while the ant cruised in an ethereal silver Volvo. He did much better with women. Dome light difficulties continued with my first, very own car. It was a 1964 Volkswagen "Bug" and the bulb died as I drove home from the dealer. This was back in the days when I thought Volkswagens were the most dependable cars in the world. Almost everyone thought that at one time, because Volkswagen of America spent one hundred billion dollars on this "aw shucks" low-key advertising campaign where they practically inserted Volkswagens into Norman Rockwell paintings. The ads featured a homely, tenacious car that started in the snow and typically ran for 275,000 miles. This myth survived until the Japanese began to produce genuinely dependable cars. After a few years of comparison, Americans realized the truth: Volkswagens broke down at the drop of a clutch. I personally blew three Volkswagen engines, but the dome lights always blew first. After the deaths of my VW Bugs, I graduated from college and took an entry-level professional job with the Social Security Administration. I got to wear a tie and be one of those officious civil servants that everybody hates. To reflect my importance, I purchased a new Pontiac. As I drove home after closing the deal, the dome light mysteriously flickered and faded, never to illuminate or assist in this lifetime. I rented a late model Subaru in Seattle and the cab light worked for three days...seventy-two hours still stands as a personal best. I borrowed a Cadillac from a naive friend and returned it, showroom fresh, except for an expired dome light. She consulted two electricians and spent $600 re-wiring the car, before resigning herself to years of motoring in gloom. So I have spent my entire life in cars without ever having that light-bulb-over-my-head feeling. I have ushered friends blindly into the back seat and allowed them to sit on snorkels and Chinese food and jumper cables. New, used, foreign or domestic -- there is no escape from Mom's fable and the maternal curse of automotive doom. © 2002 by John Walsh. All rights reserved. Distribution via hyperlink, e-mail, disk, print, broadcast or any other form is prohibited under U.S. copyright law without express permission of the author. John Walsh moved to Hawaii from Seattle in 1986 and makes his living teaching deaf children for the Maui School District. John and his attractive, very tolerant wife enjoy traveling, snorkeling and lounging by the pool reading trashy novels. (And yes, they really have six cats who permit them to leave the house once a day to go to work. ) John has sold humor and features to numerous newspapers and magazines, including The Maui News, The Honolulu Advertiser, Seattle P-I, Seattle Woman, Sunday Woman, The Voice and Funny Times. You may send adoring fan mail or suitcases of krugerands to Mr. Walsh at jwalsh@mauigateway.com Read another piece by John in the Naked Humorists Archives. |
I rented a late model Subaru in Seattle and the cab light worked for three days...seventy-two hours still stands as a personal best. |
