Memoirs of a Conservative in a Smart Car: My Non-Vegan High Speed Week in a Smart Car

I like big trucks and  I cannot lie.  In fact I drive a truck, a big truck, a big white Chevy Silverado Z71 crew cab which I call BWT (Big White Truck). I am also a red blooded, meat-eating, Bible reading, Mormon conservative.  So rest assured I am NOT showing up in the Smart Car company's potential customer demographic.  Yet, due to my Mormon-Irish cheapness (a double Whammy), I landed my normal human-sized derriere in a Chevy Spark "Smart Car" on my most recent trip to New England.

All that I can say is that if that little car was hoping that some scruffy bearded, sandal wearing, Ivy League vegan would take it conscience-cruising around Cambridge, it was sorely disappointed.  I was proud that I could help this little lunch-box on wheels live out an alter ego it never knew existed.  In fact, I may have even been the first person even to fit a Smart Car with a fuzz-buster.  The stage now set for my Odd-Couple week with an automobile, I took my three hamster-powered-vehicle (I named the hamster Jason, Sven, and Phil) out on the road.

Hitting the notoriously small cow paths that are the roads of Boston's crowded North end, I found my first concern - pedestrians.  They were everywhere and they had no respect for Mr. Matchbox and I had to respect that.  If I hit any of them it would have really hurt my car.  On the plus side, I realized quickly that I could have literally parked this Tic-Tack box in even the smallest of available parking spaces.  Since there is no such thing as an available parking spot in the North End, I went parking spot hunting elsewhere.  Striking out street after street, my son jokingly wondered if we might fit into this little half parking spot left between two ill-parked cars.  After an 8-point parallel parking job... holy junk we fit!(what you cannot see in the photo below is that the bumper of the car behind me is just barely off the edge of the photo - and I mean just barely).

Boston soon ended and it was time to try this bad-boy on the freeway.  Being two hours south of my end destination, I was anxious to get there fast.  Since it is rumored that if you drive faster you will get to there sooner, I punched it and sent Jason, Sven, and Phil running.  Who would have guesses that this glorified lawnmower could do 88 mph? (If I only had a flux-capacitor...)  At that speed I dusted a bunch of Prius' with Vermont plates and Obama stickers scooting along at a very fuel efficient 55 miles per hour.  I could almost hear their drivers pleading with tear in their eyes "No! You doing it wrong!  You're doing it all so wrong."  At least that is how it seemed to sound through the Doppler shift as I blew on by.  At one point on the trip my fuzz buster failed me and a sped past a couple of highway patrolman.  Knowing that no judge would believe that their equipment was functioning correctly, they didn't even pull out after me.

Spending a couple of hours in the car, my son an I began to notice a few deficiencies.  First, there was only a single arm rest in the entire car.  I though it was for the driver.  My son on the other hand found the arm perfectly positioned for him in the passenger seat.  Thus began a two hours game of elbow rugby.  The car did have a cool stereo with a cool interior, unfortunately I think that the thumping of a base woofer for that stereo might have compromised the structural integrity of the car, so it was omitted.  There went our chance of at least sounding cool.

Once off the highways and going at a more normal speed, I found myself taking gratuitous U-turns.  I would just suddenly decide I wanted to go the other direction and it was so.  I noticed that the speed bumps at my work facility did not feel like bumps, but felt more like little hills.  So I soon was speeding up toward each bump just to get that San Francisco car chase feel, not sure if that is what was intended.  I even raised both hands in the air for effect.

Though this was a Smart Car, what surprised me the most was how often I was filling up this cuss.  I was at the gas station all of the time.  Now some may blame my speed... no comment.  But I had another theory.  When I ran this thing almost empty I still put in less that 9 gallons in this thing.  My lawnmower takes 6 gallons!

Alas, the week soon ended and since my luggage was already full, I could not take this little guy with me.  And while I loved being back in my V-8 Chevy, I sure missed parking this bad boy.  I guess if I ever get sent to prison, I know which car I can smuggle in the big house with me.