Lank and The Civic

Man, it's hard out here for a pimp.

A few weeks ago, I was just trying to drive to my adult league soccer game with no incidents, and some girl had to cross three lanes of traffic without looking and crash right into me. Don't worry, this isn't a post about how women can't drive; that's for another day and another time. No, this one is about the hassle that I've gone through just to get my whip fixed.

First, ol' girl thinks she might want to pay out of pocket, so she has me get a couple of estimates on my car (a Dodge Stratus R/T, which I call "Secretariat"). After realizing how much it's going to be, she goes ahead and files a claim with her insurance company, who then gets in touch with me about the ordeal.

Dealing with the insurance agent was an absolute nightmare. Over the course of the past three or four weeks, I'd guess that I tried calling her 10 times for various information exchanges and the like. Not a single time did I get her. Every single time, I had to leave a message and wait for her to call me back. The funny thing is that her voicemail says that my call is very important to her, and that she will call me back within three hours of getting my message. Apparently, baby girl runs on a different time system than I do, because I've waited a day or two for her to call me back at times. And at the beginning of each voicemail, she mentions the day's date, so it's not like she was on vacation or anything.

Despite all of that, I was able to drop off my car yesterday at the repair shop and have a rental set up for me. Over the phone, the rental agent told me that I was set up for a "compact car", most likely a "Chevy Cobalt or a Ford Focus". I told her that I was 6'4", so that may not be the best option for me. She said that I could probably get upgraded to an "intermediate-sized" car if I just got back in touch with the insurance agent and had her change the request.

I couldn't have declined her proposition any faster. "Uhh, nevermind. The compact car sounds great," I said.

When the rental agent showed up, I thought somebody was playing a joke on me. Why? Because dude rolled up in a Toyota Prius. Seriously, that happened. Those of you who know how I get down know that Lank and hybrids aren't exactly bacon and eggs. I have no desire to plug my car into my bedroom power outlet anytime soon, so I'm not wild about hybrids. Don't get me wrong, I loved driving my Power Wheels jeep; but then I turned 8, so gas became my fuel of choice for my vehicles. I know, I know; I'm the reason that the planet has a fever and we're all going to hell in 2012. I've accepted it. But I voted for Obama, so the hippies still love me.

While riding in the Prius back to the rental place, Mr. Agent Man relieved me when he said, "you won't be driving this car, but we have something ready for you back at the building." Wonderful.

After filling out the requisite paper work and swearing that I wasn't going to rob a bank out of state (but I made no such promises about robbing a bank in state), Mr. Agent Man informed me that I'd be driving a Honda Civic. The Prius Scare of 2009 made this seem like good news, but once I settled down and went out to the car, I was skeptical.

First, The Civic (capitalized because I literally call it "The Civic" whenever I refer to it) is pretty small. Yes, it's a four-door, but there just isn't a whole lot of room in there. Second, it's burgundy. If I'd gotten a black, red, or silver one, I could've made it work. But when you have a small, efficient, four-door compact car that's burgundy, people automatically think you're a soccer mom. Fact. I'm sure every single person that has driven up behind me assumes that I'm a soccer mom until they swerve around me and realize that I'm not. If I weren't such a confident individual, I'd be concerned about this (you know, I'd write a post on my blog about it or something).

Once I started driving it, I realized two things: it has a terrible sound system, and it has no horsepower. When I'm choosing a ride, these are probably items #1 and #2 on my list. I'd almost rather have a legit sound system than four wheels. It's true. I had to switch from one of my new rap CDs ("'Til the Casket Drops" by Clipse) to an R&B CD just to minimize the glaring differences between the sound system in Secretariat and the sound system in The Civic. The horsepower issue reveals itself...oh, I don't know...every single time I hit the pedal. To make things worse, the display has a digital speedometer, so I can actually see how slowly the thing accelerates.

All is not lost however; I've found something redeemable about The Civic: it makes for a good story. When people hear about my lanky behind driving a burgundy Civic, they start laughing before I even get to the subpar sound system and snail-like acceleration. Honestly, The Civic is like a folk hero in my social circle and everyone wants a ride. 'Moo needed to get some grub during his lunch break at work today, so I offered to Hoke Colburn him in The Civic. Needless to say, he jumped at the opportunity and we proceeded to test the performance of the automobile while running various errands. The Civic held up pretty well to our thorough examination, garnering it even more praise and getting it closer to legendary status.

I have no idea how this story will end. I have The Civic for a few more days, so hopefully greatness will ensue before I get Secretariat back. I might even ask a girl out on a date, specifically to drive her around in such a fine automobile. Will I get a second date? Absolutely not, but you're lying if you think that she won't have a good time on a date with a man driving The Civic.

The Civic plays.

~~ Lank