Wednesday, October 29, 2003

Tooting My Own Horn



I don't use my car horn a lot, and this fact became abundantly clear when I was almost side-swiped in the parking lot and leaned on the horn to tell that asshole in the van to please not crash into my car. "Don't smash up my sweet little Japanese car, who's older than your car but I love it anyway because it's dependable as all get out, and the first brand new car I ever bought," was what the horn was supposed to say to the kid who doesn't understand the inherent beauty of car side mirrors. Instead, what came out of my poor little car at that moment was a strangled whimper, a raspy farting imitation of my car's formerly proud horn noise, that made J turn to me and comment, "Ohhhhh, that was pathetic!" Of course, he was right, but I wouldn't compound the indignity suffered by the car by agreeing with him in front of it. After all, it has served me well all these years, and there was every reason to attempt to help it save face.



To make matters worse, since J had his surgery done in Manhattan soon after that discovery, it meant spending days driving along in the city of militantly insane drivers (read: cabs), a place where one could really use a little sonic muscle, with this pathetic baby goat bleat of a horn. I could be shouting oaths at the top of my lungs and shaking with murderous rage inside the car, but that mewling little croupy cough horn told all the suicide-mission cabbies around me that I was nothing to fear. They targeted my car for the most heinous of death-defying driving stunts, and my car had nothing to say in its defense. It was most unfortunate timing, and I experienced whatever you would call the female version of emasculation.



Now, however, I have been informed by the trusty car mechanic, that he has installed the horn of horns into my little chic car. When he ordered the horn, the supplier asked whether it was a high horn or a low horn that was needed (what the?), and my mechanic didn't know which, so he said, "Give me the loudest one you have." See how in sync I am with my mechanic? I hadn't even told him that was my secret wish, and this dear boy instantly understood my need for roaring, intimidating decibels. "Believe me, this is loud," he promised me. "You'll sound like a truck!" Oh, don't tease me, good mechanic lad, you are making me crazy with anticipation.



I'm off now to test out the new toy, blowing off some steam by blowing every slow moving vehicle in the surrounding suburbs into oblivion. I will be drunk with power! I can hardly wait.


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