…OUR CARS.
No? Come on, admit it. You have a name for your car, right? Anaz has Obit. Bet has his WiMP. Mine is Zach. We can be very attached to our cars. Abang still uses the nick Ceejay after the now extinct Lancer he started out with. Zura refers to hers as her “new bf”. My Dad refuses to part with his 1978 relic. (Yes, Abah, I KNOW it’s a Merc. It still won’t last FOREVER…)
Cars fit their owners too; they’re an extension of themselves to a certain point. Take Reeza’s old Accord – sleek, solid and dependable. Risq’s Civic- flash. Anuar’s Ford Turbo Coupe – more flash. Angela’s antique powder blue Merc – unique and classy.
But hey, I don’t judge books by their cover. Just like me a few years back, some of us are using whatever available to get from point A to point B, as a necessity to get around the atrocious public transport system that we have. The most important part of a car is the driver.
I tend to judge people by the way they drive. A few people have been blacklisted from ever driving MY car. It all boils down to being safe. Someone who drives safe is more likely to care about their responsibilities, in this case, their passenger(s). I definitely won’t feel safe in a red Ferrari heading towards an oil palm. In contrast, I felt extremely safe in an older version chariot I hitched a ride in recently. I may have insulted the driver though… Oops, sorry; I have foot-in-mouth disease sometimes.
Admit it; we take insults to our car very personally. I flamed when someone said a white Satria was boring. Coming from someone driving a green Matrix? Speak for yourself, bro. To be invited to drive a brand new car is an honour. It’s a statement of trust when someone allows you to drive his spanking new expensive car. And to NOT be allowed to test drive a car is a downright insult. (Flashback: This is automatic, you drive manual. Tak boleh :-p)
So that’s it, folks. My 2 cents worth. Have to get back to my seminar now :-D
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