May 14, 1999

The Tempo

They say your first car is the one you always treasure. Something about the first set of wheels you command as your own just finds a special place in your life. I drove my first car again today. The past week I've been home, I have driven my mom's car instead since the rolling lemon that is The Tempo is not limited to mere in-town driving. In terms of Pewee Valley, that's about a ten minute drive out to where the Walmart used to be.

Even the two minute ride felt good. The Tempo's always been a car of its own. Bought from a back-lot of a dealership, my brother drove it into the ground quite a bit before I inherited it and all its problems. These quirks are what give The Tempo her spunk. Sure, the inside roof of her is held up by thumb tacks. That's all part of her uniqueness.

My friends who have seen her understand why I like The Tempo. She's unique. Sure, the fact that a cleverly constructed dowel rod keeps the sun visors from crashing into your forehead and the only idea of an airbag is driving around with a balloon in your mouth. (You see, if you expect an accident, you start blowing really hard and then you have an airbag.)

The Tempo's my first car and I love her. She might have hail damage and chipping paint and a supreme oil leak and need a jump every twenty-four hours, she is and forever will be my first car.