So, we're stuck with four brands of big engined car: Mercedes, BMW, Volvo or Saab. Gack! It ends up being a really good deal, because we don't pay tax (suck on that government services!) and we get some other kind of discount, that probably isn't really a discount, but what evs.
Still, these fancy cars are completely wasted on Andrew and I. The websites talk about horsepower (?) V8 engines (?); driving chassis (?) torque (?) and emulsifying pore refiners. Since the last car we had for an extended period of time was my sister's rusted out 1990 VW Golf, which had an alarm that would BLARE if you looked at it funny, a gas thingee that wouldn't open unless you pried it with a key and an engine that conked out at every set of lights on the way to work one day, because, according to my brother-in-law, it was getting WET, we are obviously not equipped to appreciate the finer points of the "sophisticated driving/life experience" that these cars are supposed to provide.
The whole thing is an interesting experience. For one thing, true to form, the Belgian attitude to selling you a car is completely nonchalant. You have to wave someone down in a showroom and then beg them for an appointment. No one gives you the hard sell because they are all on vacation for the months of July and August, and the secretary behind the desk doesn't care if you have questions about the warranty or whether the car comes with heated front seats (Hey, I might not know about alloy tires, or rims, or whatever, but I know that my ass gets cold in a Canadian winter).
So, the other day I test drove a Volvo. This was a bit of an adventure. I showed up, the guy took a photocopy of my ID card, then handed me the keys to a 30,000$ car and said "here you go." I was a little startled, because I assumed he would be coming with me. Let me just point out that I've only driven in Brussels three times, and the first time saw me plummeting down Avenue Louise (one of the big roads) and whipping twice around the roundabout at Poleart (a big roundabout) while screaming "fuck! fuck! fuck!" because I didn't know where I was going, what I was doing, or how to negotiate the 32 complicated lanes of Belgian traffic swirling around me in a confusing European maelstrom. Things improved in my subsequent two trips, but I'm still paranoid about every intersection because of the whole "priorité à droit" thing here, which means there are no stop signs in the whole damn country and people seem to plow into each other at random.
So. There's me. In the brand new, very expensive car. Without a map. Or a guide. And it's raining. Also, I have no idea what I'm supposed to glean from this whole "test drive" business in the first place. How do I know what to look for? If the car doesn't stall at intersections, I'll be happy. If the bottom doesn't literally rust out, causing a shock to fall to the ground at a Tim Horton's drive thru, (Colt E 100, grad school), I will be pleased. If the car's ability to turn left doesn't mysteriously disappear, forcing me to plan all travel via right-hand turns (1980 Crown Victoria, university), I'll be delighted. If,when the engine is switched off, the car doesn't continue to shake, vibrate and make a "ka-chunk" ka-chunk" noise for a full minute, (Econoline Van, childhood), I'll be thrilled.
Combining my complete lack of knowledge about cars, with my panic that I was going to total the stupid thing, I did what any sensible person would do on a test drive. I drove the car around the corner and parked. I waited there for 15 minutes, playing with the radio, checking out the cup holders and updating my agenda. Long enough for the dude at the garage to think I had given it a thorough "road test." Unfortunately I had to leave the car idling (sorry ozone layer) because I was concerned that the car's fancy alarm system might be activated if I turned it off, or worse the "immobiliser" thing would kick in and I would have to explain to the salesman why I had parked the car literally fifty feet from his garage.
Anyway, I returned the car without incident (Oh, except when I pulled it back into the garage and smoothly parked in front of the salesman and sundry mechanics and secretaries, I couldn't figure out how to open my door. I ended up tapping on the window until my salesman rescued me and showed me the trick with the door lock. Ah hem.)
Anyway, Andy and I are trolling the car dealerships of Brussels this afternoon. I hope the salespeople are ready for us...
Still, these fancy cars are completely wasted on Andrew and I. The websites talk about horsepower (?) V8 engines (?); driving chassis (?) torque (?) and emulsifying pore refiners. Since the last car we had for an extended period of time was my sister's rusted out 1990 VW Golf, which had an alarm that would BLARE if you looked at it funny, a gas thingee that wouldn't open unless you pried it with a key and an engine that conked out at every set of lights on the way to work one day, because, according to my brother-in-law, it was getting WET, we are obviously not equipped to appreciate the finer points of the "sophisticated driving/life experience" that these cars are supposed to provide.
The whole thing is an interesting experience. For one thing, true to form, the Belgian attitude to selling you a car is completely nonchalant. You have to wave someone down in a showroom and then beg them for an appointment. No one gives you the hard sell because they are all on vacation for the months of July and August, and the secretary behind the desk doesn't care if you have questions about the warranty or whether the car comes with heated front seats (Hey, I might not know about alloy tires, or rims, or whatever, but I know that my ass gets cold in a Canadian winter).
So, the other day I test drove a Volvo. This was a bit of an adventure. I showed up, the guy took a photocopy of my ID card, then handed me the keys to a 30,000$ car and said "here you go." I was a little startled, because I assumed he would be coming with me. Let me just point out that I've only driven in Brussels three times, and the first time saw me plummeting down Avenue Louise (one of the big roads) and whipping twice around the roundabout at Poleart (a big roundabout) while screaming "fuck! fuck! fuck!" because I didn't know where I was going, what I was doing, or how to negotiate the 32 complicated lanes of Belgian traffic swirling around me in a confusing European maelstrom. Things improved in my subsequent two trips, but I'm still paranoid about every intersection because of the whole "priorité à droit" thing here, which means there are no stop signs in the whole damn country and people seem to plow into each other at random.
So. There's me. In the brand new, very expensive car. Without a map. Or a guide. And it's raining. Also, I have no idea what I'm supposed to glean from this whole "test drive" business in the first place. How do I know what to look for? If the car doesn't stall at intersections, I'll be happy. If the bottom doesn't literally rust out, causing a shock to fall to the ground at a Tim Horton's drive thru, (Colt E 100, grad school), I will be pleased. If the car's ability to turn left doesn't mysteriously disappear, forcing me to plan all travel via right-hand turns (1980 Crown Victoria, university), I'll be delighted. If,when the engine is switched off, the car doesn't continue to shake, vibrate and make a "ka-chunk" ka-chunk" noise for a full minute, (Econoline Van, childhood), I'll be thrilled.
Combining my complete lack of knowledge about cars, with my panic that I was going to total the stupid thing, I did what any sensible person would do on a test drive. I drove the car around the corner and parked. I waited there for 15 minutes, playing with the radio, checking out the cup holders and updating my agenda. Long enough for the dude at the garage to think I had given it a thorough "road test." Unfortunately I had to leave the car idling (sorry ozone layer) because I was concerned that the car's fancy alarm system might be activated if I turned it off, or worse the "immobiliser" thing would kick in and I would have to explain to the salesman why I had parked the car literally fifty feet from his garage.
Anyway, I returned the car without incident (Oh, except when I pulled it back into the garage and smoothly parked in front of the salesman and sundry mechanics and secretaries, I couldn't figure out how to open my door. I ended up tapping on the window until my salesman rescued me and showed me the trick with the door lock. Ah hem.)
Anyway, Andy and I are trolling the car dealerships of Brussels this afternoon. I hope the salespeople are ready for us...
3 comments:
I remember two things about your grad school car:
1. Your system for eating mcdonalds while driving standard
2. TRYING to keep Sydney in the backseat for at least part of the drive.
Awesome.
Amanda
Too funny!
I am crying I am laughing so hard right now! I, too, had a Crown Vic in university that we called "The Boat" which would mysteriously stall when taking a left in the middle of an intersection. Then there was the old Volvo which we called my "five speed-automatic" because I had to gently lift off the brake while applying the same downward pressure to the gas so I wouldn't stall when the light changed. Thanks to that car learning how to get out of first in a stick shift was a breeze!
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