The Classics: "The Rabbit"

It was his pride. It was his joy. It was his red 1980 diesel Volkswagen Rabbit; the symbol of his independence and personality. For many, the Rabbit (as it was commonly called) was repulsive. The paint was no longer red, but instead a burnt orange with a dusty complexion. Washing it was futile. The paint came off readily when scrubbed and the exhaust turned the back black every time it was driven. Still, Sandy never neglected his car, in fact he pampered it, even waxed the poor thing. Some may think wax can improve any finish, but no, not this one. The paint drank the wax with fervor yet continued to shine like cardboard. The interior attempted to scream luxury with its aged red and brown upholstery stained extensively by fast food, soda, and sipper cup throwings. As a matter of fact, it was said by Sandy’s parents that one of the stains was the result of Sandy himself, spilling his baby bottle. Simply put, Sandy’s love for the car wasn’t founded in its appearance. Then Sandy grew up.

Leaving school one day, he found himself at destiny’s door. The test of any car: an honest to goodness drag race. A showdown between men, their cars, and their ability to drive them. The light was red, ominous, steady. It held its glare as both drivers calmed their nerves, gripping their steering wheels, and revving their engines. Out of the corner of Sandy’s eye he caught the glow of imminence: the yellow light for cross traffic. (This technique, although regarded as cheating by some, became Sandy’s hallmark move, providing him with an invaluable advantage off the line.) GREEN!! Exactly timed, Sandy dropped the clutch, floored the gas, and chirped the tires, propelling him off the line like a bottle rocket. 1^st gear, 2^nd gear… he was in a millennium yellow C5 Corvette ZO6, working the 6 speed manual transmission as if he’d done it all his life. But reality came back quickly, it gained on him, it caught him. Neck and neck, the two drivers exchanged glances. He power shifted into 3^rd hoping for that push that would put him on top of the world…but it didn’t come. It couldn’t. It was a red 1980 diesel Volkswagen Rabbit. The black smoke bellowed out the exhaust of the little car dirtying the freshly cleaned bumper, and in the air it mixed with the diesel fumes of his opponent: a shorter than normal school bus, driven by an old man, oblivious to the race he had just won. Admitting defeat while laughing, Sandy shifted calmly into his 4^th and final gear and drove home. So, I suppose Sandy’s love for the car wasn’t founded in its performance either. As I said before, it was his pride and joy, simply because it was his. I guess that’s all that mattered.