wideeyedfunk

Tag: Mercedes

  • This situation is intolerable.

    I could fix it in ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Or at least improve on it. Make it less distressing.

    A classic, careworn Mercedes 380SL convertible moved onto my street last month. The rear driver’s window panel is out on the driver’s side and has been during the whole of my acquaintance with the car. The owner’s cleverly expedient fix, a pink and orange beach towel shoved in the gap, pains me. This morning there were three beach towels shoved in the hole and draped over the entire area. RaingaugeEvidently one towel was insufficient to combat the near inch of rain we had in the night.

    As the lightening crackled and the downpour thundered on the roof of my house, I worried about the Mercedes. I fretted for it as it crouched under a tree in the street.

    Every time it rains, even a little, that Mercedes ages faster. Yes, it is already over the hill and running on fumes as any good old Mercedes will do for decades. But I am overcome with wonderment that a person who has the wherewithal and bravery to operate such a car as a daily driver is callous enough to speed its dying. Poor Mercedes. Poor me for having to witness this slow death.

    Mercedes1

    I can’t watch this play out over the coming days, weeks,  – or if the Mercedes is remarkably resilient –  months. I have hatched a plan. I have scissors, some good quality black duct tape, and a small sheet of high ml plastic sheeting ready. In the wee hours of the night, by the dim glow of the antique street light, I am going to fix it. Or at least improve on this intolerable situation a little bit.

  • Why Teenagers in Beater Cars Always Speed

    The Spouse and I were ripping down the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way) from Niagara On The Lake in Canada to the Peace Bridge border crossing. Our bellies were full of British style pub food from the Angel Inn and the Mini Cooper S was enjoying running at higher rpms for a little while. The speed limit on the QEW is 100kph – about 62 miles an hour. Normal highway pace. Rarely have I seen anyone moving so slowly.

    Traffic was pretty light. It was midday and the Canadian rush to the U.S. for cheaper mall shopping was over. The Spouse had the Mini cruising in the right lane without obstructions. Every now and again a massive BMW or Mercedes would blow past in a blur of color and grace. We’ve seen this phenomenon in Europe too, and have long speculated that other countries must offer a Speeding Pass to the owners of luxury performance cars. I am always jealous when the tail end of a Beautiful Car disappears ahead of us.

    I noticed that the Spouse was intently watching the rear and side mirrors. Usually this signals the arrival of something spectacular: A Boss 302. A Ferrari, Aston Martin, or Bugatti perhaps. I glanced behind us and saw what looked like a red brick lumbering down the QEW passing lane.

    The Spouse stoically watched it pass us: an ancient, rusted, teen-filled, bald-tired, exhaust belching beater.  “Pour it on Mercury Topaz,” he said, “gotta stay ahead of the breakdown.”