Car and driver

I went to a school where everyone had to dress alike, so oneform of self expression was through the cars we drove.

My parents didn’t think I was worthy of a nice car at 16,so my very first car was an ’88 Toyota Tercel. It got me frompoint A to point B and sometimes back to point A.

In a parking lot full of SUVs, my car certainly stood out. I wasextremely proud of that Piece-o-Crap. Too bad I only had it for ayear before I had to lay it to rest at the junkyard. It was abouttime, though. She was so beat up it was ridiculous.

There was no air conditioning, so I had to take a bucket of icewith me into the car as a cooling device.

The steering wheel got really screwy, and I couldn’t makeleft turns. As a result, I had to make five right turns to getwhere I wanted to go with a single left turn. The left turn signalblinked at about 90 mph, while the right turn signal blinked atabout 20, and I could never fix the settings.

I wasn’t asking for a nice car at 16 — just a safeand functional one. But apparently, my parents didn’t think Iwas worthy of that either.

I’ve moved up since then. I drive an SUV, and it’sgreat! I run over things purposely, just because I can. You know— curbs, smaller cars and school children.

As if my car wasn’t too big for me already, I want an evenbigger car. I would give an arm and a leg for a Hummer — theoriginal Hummer. Then I’d have to give the other arm and legto pay for the gas that it guzzles. In the end, I wouldn’teven be able to drive it, because I’d be a quadriplegic.

Children? I plan on having three girls one day, and their nameswill be 911 Turbo Truong, SL500 Truong and 360 Modena Truong.

Who needs kids when you can have cars? You see, when you screwup your car, you’ve got insurance to take care of thedamage.

There’s no insurance for screwing up your kids’lives, and no matter what, you are always the one who is liable, soyou can’t pin the damage on anyone else. Also, there is nolimit to how many cars you can have — the more, themerrier.

In fact, you even get a discount on your insurance for multiplecars. With children, the woman’s biological clock determineshow many children a couple can have. There is no discount, and themore, well … the more stressful. You can’t lease ortrade-in children, either.

Husband? I’ll pass on the husband and get a motorcycleinstead.

Yes, folks, a motorcycle! Not just any motorcycle — aKawasaki Ninja. I think that just gives me an excuse to get alldecked out in a leather outfit.

Now that I go to a school where people don’t dress alikeanymore (to some extent, that statement is true…), I findthat everyone just drives the same cars.

I’ve noticed that there are only two types of drivers hereat SMU. Driver A has an unnecessarily oversized truck with a12-inch lift and a Husky toolbox, while Driver B has a BMW 3-series— black, white or silver.

I’m used to being the designated driver these days.

I don’t mind driving whenever my friends and I go out, butafter many nights of driving them from pre-party to pre-party, thento the actual party and then to Wendy’s to satiate theirdrunken munchies on our way to the post-party, I’ve had toset some ground rules just in case.

If you’ve ever ridden with me, you know about these rules.I make everyone read and agree to them when they get into thecar.

The Car Commandments

I. Thou shalt not smoke in Ann’s car.

II. Thou shalt not puke in Ann’s car.

III. Thou shalt not pee on thyself in Ann’scar.

IV. Thou shalt not spill in Ann’s car.

V. Thou shalt not bitch incessantly in Ann’scar.

VI. Thou shalt not be boring in Ann’s car.

VII. Thou shalt not get it on in Ann’s car.

In Ann’s car, this is the law.

Ann Truong is a columnist for The Daily Campus. She may bereached at [email protected].