| 10 may 2001 | state full of magoos Remember that old cartoon Mr. Magoo , for which Jim Backus provided the voice of the title character? I loved Mr. Magoo; still do when I can catch him. He's unassuming, kind, and darn lucky. Let's face it: the guy bumbles through life, stumbles across busy highways, and somehow manages to live until the next episode. Mr. Magoo can do lots of neat things. He cannot, however, drive a car. Welcome to North Carolina. Now, you guys know that I love Carolina. I love living here, dig the people, and think I'm most lucky to live among all these rolling hills. Rarely will you catch my grumbling over my lot in life. That is, until I have to drive somewhere. At those times, I am reminded that you can take the fan out of the NASCAR track, but you can't take NASCAR out of the fan. Fasten your seat belt, kids--it's every Tarheel for herself out here. Crappy Carolina-based drivers have to start somewhere. In most cases, it begins at the car lot at the time of sale. You've nearly sealed the deal, when the salesman cocks his eyebrow and asks and what options would you like on that Explorer ? Well, you think, it sure does get hot here in the summer, so definitely air conditioning and a big drink holder. And a phone, and maybe one of those GPS system/television combos to keep the kids sedated in the back. Leather seats, so I have something to talk about at lunchtime with those people I don't like but nonetheless must impress at work. Oh, yeah, and one of those suction-cup notepads on the driver's side so I can take notes while I talk on the phone. The salesman asks if you want a horn. Absolutely you do. A loud one. Detailing? Racing stripes? "Eddie Bauer" painted on the back door? Yes, please. All of the above. And then, he tries to sell you on one last item. Turn signals, Miss ? Oh, no, you say. Turn signals? We don't use turn signals in North Carolina. Hee-hee! The salesman shrugs his shoulders and guffaws with you. You slap each other on the back and have a beer together before you drive off the lot. So you're driving down the road, surrounded by other drivers who didn't take the turn signal option package. It's a hot day, and you notice the driver behind you enjoying a cold beverage. Good vintage, too--MGD, 2001. How, pray tell, did I know? Because Wayne the Tailgating Booze Hound is so close that I can read his NRA ballcap. Yeah, we're friendly around here. We just sidle on up until you can smell the odeur d'Whopper emanating from our vehicle. Road rage? Yeah, we've got that. Dudes in five-hundred-dollar cars with two-thousand dollars worth of sound and subwoofer equipment? Got that too. Those are the young, deaf def guys yelling at their girlfriends on the cellphone while lying in the fully prone position with one wrist draped over the steering wheel. They're cool, man. They shave. Twice a week. Magoo. He was from here. |
