The best part of the experience lingers A STORY WORTH TELLING
“To attract men, I wear a perfume called ‘New Car Interior.’” — Rita Rudner, comedian
That new car smell is intoxicating and should be outlawed.
It tempted me last week, but I’m in this long-term relationship with a 2009 Chevy Tahoe. We’re celebrating 237,000 miles this month. And to borrow from The Carpenters, “So many roads to choose, and yes, we’ve only just begun.”
New-car dealerships are fun, though.
Everyone I saw at the Lexus store last week was wearing a sports coat and tie. And that was just the mechanics. Dealership customer lounges usually have a coffee pot. But the Lexus’ lounge offered a soda fountain, coffee shop and short-order bistro.
My Lexus-owning friend and I drove to the city for dining and shopping while her car was being serviced.
She bypassed the dealership’s offer to pick up her car at home (70 miles away), leave a loaner and return her car once the work was done.
You miss out on little perks like that when a 16-year-old Tahoe that’s traveled the equivalent of nine-anda- half times around the world occupies the driveway. My trusty steed comes with unique challenges, but I know what I’m dealing with.
The new Lexus loaner required dealing with a unique learning curve, such as the shift lever on the console; a device assumed to operate routinely. Not so. “Drive” called for a slight nudge left. A similar nudge back rendered reverse travel.
Finding “park”? The joystick lever had nothing at all to do with that. Park was a completely separate button. The newest ultraluxury car from Toyota had more chiming alarms than you could shake a non-shifting gear shift stick at. One, we presumed for any car driving too close.
Others for an auto passing in front and for one passing behind. Then another for an approaching vehicle of a different color, and one for a vehicle that was trying to grab the good parking spot at TJ Maxx.
Not to be outdone, my old Tahoe sounds an alarm when backing too close to an object such as a car, a tree, a post, litter on the street or the neighbor’s mailbox. And it will send alerts to the dash when a door is ajar and in other simulated emergencies.
As for the Lexus’ emergency brake, just pretend it doesn’t have one. It sets automatically when you touch the park button and releases once you figure out which way to nudge the faux shift lever to accidentally engage the drive position.
Done shopping and packages piled in the back? The car absolutely refused to start until everyone was seated, buckled in, wind-blown hair adjusted, makeup fixed and all doors were closed. No way, no how.
This Lexus was also a hybrid. The motor would quit running at every red light, then restart with a small lurch when the accelerator was applied. But hey, my old 1951 Chevy in high school would do that — quit running at red lights. The only difference was that it didn’t restart until I got out and tweaked the carburetor.
My biggest takeaway from the Lexus? This was the first car that told me what it would do or not. And just how it would do it. Or not.
No amount of begging or threats changed any operational procedure.
It was the car’s way or no way.
It made me laugh, thinking about what my father used to say.
Dad scoffed at any car with convenience or fanciness. In an era when cars came in two models, standard or luxury, he opted for the least expensive. Models that were starkly equipped with a six-cylinder engine, standard shift transmission, power nothing and no air conditioning. But he did splurge for the extra cost of AM radio, which was about $35. Yes sir! First class.
Dad was quick to point out the extra cost options meant expensive repairs when one of them malfunctioned. Mostly at Mom’s insistence, however, Dad bought his first airconditioned car during my senior year of high school. Oh, it was still the base model Chevrolet Biscayne, six-cylinder engine, standard shift transmission, power nothing with a radio. But it had factory air. He used it sparingly, however.
“Takes extra gas to run that power stuff,” he cautioned.
Dad wouldn’t know how to handle a car that told him what to do or did anything for him. I’m not sure I would, either.
Yet as I write this, the best part of last week’s Lexus experience lingers — that intoxicating new car smell.
Contact Aldridge at leonaldridge@gmail. com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge.com
