Volume CXXXII, Number 3 September 27, 2002 f

Little red Corvette, baby you're much too fast
ACADIA SENESE
COLUMNIST

So I don't own an SUV. I don't own a gas guzzling, hip, four-wheel drive, all-terrain vehicle. And I'm down with that, even at an SUV-laden campus like Bowdoin.Instead, I own a 1991 Ford Taurus, yes, that's right, a 1991 Taurus-red, automatic, grandmother-style automobile.My car gets the shimmies on the highway, and the radio sounds like a child beating on a tin can. It has four wheels, a steering wheel, and even an engine, and you know what, after three years without a car my little red 'corvette' is a godsend.

Needless to say, my car is-how shall I say it?-a bit embarrassing to drive. Not that I mind driving used cars, or old cars, or Tauruses that have gone out of style, it's just that this particular car, well, has some character. First of all, after living in grandmother land, a.k.a Florida, for the past ten years, it received quite a sunburn and the paint on it is peeling like it's never peeled before. Even Goldmember, yes that's an Austin Powers reference, would be put to shame. I can't go to a drive-through car wash for fear all remaining paint chips will be removed in one fell swoop, and any reddish hue remaining will bleach itself away in one sunny day.

I get no respect in my car. People take one look at it and cut me off. They know I don't have the pick up to ride their tail, nor the speed to keep up with them much past 70 on the highway (my speedometer goes no higher than a very optimistic 85 mph). This frustrates every Bostonian tendency that I have, where 80 miles an hour and lane changes without signaling are the norm. Put me on a rural Maine road though and my little red corvette performs.

But since not all places are rural, unoccupied roads like the Maine backwoods, I have learned to avoid certain, shall we say, public, and potentially embarrassing places. I do not go to full-serve gas stations for fear that my increasingly resistant gas cap will not remove itself for the gas attendant. I do not go to drive through bank tellers. I do not go through tollbooths unless I have exact change. I do not cruise Maine Street. I do not drive around campus with the music blasting at 4 p.m. trying to outdo all the jocks in their SUVs. I do not hang outside Thorne at dinnertime, and I definitely do not try to flirt with other drivers on the road.

Of all the places my car could be right now, Maine is the perfect one. Despite the Masshole license plate, my car screams Maine. It has a Bowdoin sticker, and it has some mean bear claw marks to back that up. You see, I went camping this past summer, and instead of hanging my food up in the trees like most outdoor savvy people do, I decided to leave it in my car. In the middle of the night, I awoke to the sounds of a bear attacking my car, and sure enough, in the morning there were claw marks that ran from the roof down the whole windshield, and across the hood. They aren't just claw marks, they're mean claw marks, and they're grooved. You should check them out some day. They're very cool.

While my car may be "grandmotheresque", front bench seat and all, it gets the job done. And it doesn't use much gas getting it done. That is definitely a good thing because it limits the amount of time I must stand next to my car at the self-serve gas station. No matter its lack of beauty and speed, I really do think Prince, or the symbol, or whatever he goes by now, was inspired by my car when he wrote his song. Yeah, you could argue he was being sarcastic, but he definitely didn't write about a red SUV.