DRY FIN

by Cynthia MacGregor

For some people, driving is a necessity to get from here to there; for others, it’s fun unto itself. Of course it helps to own a fun car. Convicts own the cars that are probably the most fun—con vertibles. Certain farmers haul their produce to town in corn vertibles.

A fellow named Daniel apparently had a part in the creation of the first hardtop—who he was has become a mystery, but his name remains behind as his legacy—the cars are known as See Dans.

Jeeps are misnamed—they aren’t jeep to own at all; they’re really rather expensive. Vans are so called because you can haul quite a few rock groupies, or vans of a certain singer or band, to a concert in one. And a certain type of truck is famous for offering relief to the driver who needs a rest room when the next rest stop isn’t for another forty miles—a built-in container can relieve the bladder pressure, so of course the vehicle is known as a pee cup truck.

The rear end of another type of vehicle used to wiggle back and forth altogether too often, but the manufacturers applied a tactic later made famous by computer software manufacturers. Just as computer folks point to defects and claim, “It’s not a bug—it’s a feature!” so did auto manufacturers capitalize on the vehicle’s wobble, pretend it was intended, and call their product a station waggin’.

Gypsy tea-leaf readers who ply their wares dockside in harbor towns drive port you-tell-a-tea vehicles.

Wrecked-ration vehicles are also called “Are We”s, though nobody is sure what the full question is—probably “Are we having fun yet?” (The answer is usually “No!”) An older class of Are We is called a camp-purr, named for the sound of the motor. Yet another related vehicle is the trail-her, favored by private eyes, who do a lot of that sort of thing—so much so that you can be sure their favorite game, as kids, had to have been Follow the Leader. (In Europe, they played Follow the Litre. In Germany, it was Follow the Lieder. And of course, in the dairy department it was Follow the Liederkranz.)

There are many brands of cars, though when it comes to cars, “brands” are called “makes.” Makes no sense to me. Retirees drive Old Mobiles. People with a tendency to gastric upset drive a Chef Rolaid. If you need to be concerned with a vehicle that fits your pocketbook, you probably want to drive Afford. Much maligned of late is the Cries Slur. Certain fetishists favor the Panty Ack, and people who care only if their car is a reliable workhorse, not how it looks, favor the Drudge.

If you collect miniatures of Star Wars characters, you probably drive a Toy Yoda. If you spend a lot of time working out, you probably drive a Gymmy. (And if you do work out regularly, you could say you spend a lot of time at the body shop.) Got a legal case pending against the local establishment that displays exotic animals to the public? You ought to be driving an Isuzu. Locksmiths all drive Kias. If you’re a clergyperson, and you perform a lot of weddings, do you drive a Linkin’? If you’re a doctor or scientist who works with radium, do you celebrate that fact by driving a MarieCurie?

Some cars have very strange names. Take Nissan—that’s supposed to be a vehicle? It’s your sibling’s daughter’s male offspring! Miata—sounds like you’re declaring that you like to sail an expensive boat. Or Harley—what does that say? “I Harley ever ride my motorcycle anymore!”

Which cars do you like best? Mercy—dese? Mazda the rest of the world just takes the bus.