The SamuraiMarine

Thoughts, Philosophy, Life and Love

A brotherhood/sisterhood of car owners

Tell me… When did it become the norm for people to think that just because you drive the same car as they do, that there is some bond created between the two of you?

Trust me, I DO undstand it if, say, you own a collectable or unique car.  My wife has a 1993 Honda del Sol and we are on-again off-again members of a del Sol car club.  But see, that is different.  You have a car that is worth being happy with and there are few enough of them out there that make it special.  Several times we will be driving in her car and happen upon another del Sol driver who would wave at us.  There have even been a couple times that people have stopped and talked to us about the car and we are more than happy to share our time with them.

I think the first time I noticed that there are groups out there that seem to see a bond where none exists, is when I bought my first car.  It was a 1997 GMC Jimmy SUV, which is actually nothing more than a Chevy Blazer.  Anyone that has been around the block a time or two knows that you almost cannot walk a hundred feet without tripping over one of these things from some model year.  They are not that rare.  Yet, there is a car club for their owners.  I could not tell you how many people there are in it, but I am sure that there are quiet a few.  But the question is… WHY?  I can say, from personal experience with my own and from the points of view of others through conversations, that the Jimmy was a crappy vehicle.  Why form a club?  So that you know you can have a group of people to cry with you when you have to replace your radiator after the Dexcool seizes your cooling system?

Another one that makes me laugh is something I saw here in my town.  A Ford F150 owners club.  Alright, I would associate that as being about as relevant as a club called “Bathtub users of America”.  There are so many of those things on the road that again, I have to ask, what is the point?  They have a good record, yes.  They have a history, yes… but they are about as unique as humans having two feet. (no offense to any double amputees or paraplegics that might read this.)

The reason I am talking about this is because of my new car…  well… not actually a car, it is called a “Crossover” these days.  Not quite a car, not quite a truck, not quite a minivan…  you get the point.  It is a Chrysler Pacifica, as I have spoken about previously on this site.  Since getting this vehicle, I have started noticing more of them on the road.  I am pretty sure that they were always there, but the way the mind works, i was just not seeing them.

Now I have noticed that occasionally people see me driving in mine, and wave at me.  I do not know who they are, but they seem pretty happy about waving to me.  So I can only assume that they feel some bond to me for having bought a Pacifica, or maybe it is some mass delusional state that accompanies ownership of these crossovers that I have yet to succumb to, that causes involuntary wagging of the arm… who knows.

I like my Pacifica… I really do, but I do not consider them to be unique enough to warrant the “buddy effect” that seems to be surrounding me since I bought it.

Oh well… I am a gracious person… I will smile when people wave… like I always do.  But in my mind, I am hoping that you get back home before the Lithium wears off.

Samuel Wright
Writer / Father / Listener / Philosopher
I am a starving writer living in the backwater of California, in a place known mostly for Buck Owens and Valley Fever called Bakersfield.

This site is my release. A place for me to talk about things that annoy, please, or excite me.

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2 Comments

  1. James

    Hi, I found your blog on this new directory of WordPress Blogs at blackhatbootcamp.com/listofwordpressblogs. I dont know how your blog came up, must have been a typo, i duno. Anyways, I just clicked it and here I am. Your blog looks good. Have a nice day. James.

  2. I thank you for the visit anyway, even if it was by accident. Hopefully this will not be your last visit.

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