I am 21 years old and a big char brown of 45 years
Wednesday, 23 August, 2017 13:44
Wednesday, 23 August, 2017 13:44
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I am 21 years old, I live in Montreal and I have a big char brown of 45 years.
For many millénariaux urban, the car is a clutter. Unless you have received from mom and dad, of course.
For me, it is just the opposite. At 17 years old, I was proud as a peacock to buy me, with my modest means from a teenager, my first old car. At that time, I had not even my driving license. Someone had to accompany me so that I can drive my old boat legally.
Instinctively, you say that it is anything but a purchase is rational. And yet at 17 years old, I had pocket money and not much more than that. I wanted to buy me a car, but it should not be too expensive. The other matter is that I am not a mechanic, for a five-cennes. It was therefore necessary for the vehicle to be functional and in good condition.
I’ll let you guess where.
Oh, and in addition, I absolutely wanted an old car. “Why?” you ask, and with accuracy. Well a friend of my father had purchased some years previously a Plymouth Fury 1970, and it was making me downright triper. He had paid a few thousand dollars and it was roadworthy without too much flinching.
And then, do like everyone else and buy me a Civic or a Focus, it did not interest me.
This had to happen, happened.
Without trying too hard, on an autumn evening, I stupidly fell on my big Brownie. With the help of his nephew, a lady of about 80 years was selling his car : a Chrysler Newport 1972. I was, and I still am, in love with its brown color. You know, this is the kind of car that has four ashtrays, but no airbag. Who has the power windows and air conditioning, but no outside mirror on the passenger side. The priorities were different at the time of the cinema release of the film
The Godfather. After you have inspected it with my father, I concluded the market.
I negotiated, of course. But not too much. I was so afraid of losing it. I was already a little attached, I have to admit.
Love at first sight, as they say. I always talk about my char, here.
With the Fiat 500 from an old friend.
I rode with it just a few weeks before the winter. Quickly, he needed to find an indoor parking lot. If it has survived so many years, it is because she has been kept away from the snow, the ice, but especially salt. It would be a shame to ruin his nice body brunette and exposing it to the elements.
But with hindsight, it was foolish to buy a car, without a licence, and then store it for the winter shortly after. But I consoled myself the next spring, by lifting the garage door. There she was, shining, brown. She was waiting for me.
Every morning these last few weeks of secondary 5, I drove to get to school. Oh it détonait in the parking lot. Everyone found it weird, but so cool at the same time. If well as made to the prom, I had to turn down friends who wanted to go there with me.
This is one of the most beautiful memories with this car : the prom. The worst thing is that a few days before the ball, she had started to make a strange noise. In speed, I took her to the garage. The faithful mechanic has solved the problem in two turns of the ratchet. In short, we had filled the iiiiiimmense trunk with tents, sleeping bags, spare clothes, and especially coolers full of *apple juice* (we were minors) in view of the after-prom. There were three of us on the bench seat in front and they were all on the bench seat in the back ready to go at the Old Port. With my bow, my big Brownie and my best friends, I could not be more radiant.
We were ready for the after-prom.
It is looooongue, isn’t it?