Dreaming in Tonka yellow
My identity is not tied to a car (thankfully). The world shall not know me by my vehicle (even something as tricked out as a city bus). But, once in a while, the wish to have something unique sets in.
Today, I checked out a rig that I could learn to like. Belongs to the family of a friend, and from the first view, as it crossed the parking lot, I was ready to park it in my driveway. A used ambulance.
No thoughts of saving lives, or rushing to the scene of something newsworthy. Rather, the thought of having bright backup lights, beacons was enough to get me excited. Outside, a yellow that screamed “”Make way, I’m here for hay!” Inside, not one but two consoles, with buttons etched with Code 99 and 10-31. And radio antennae, although the transceivers were missing. I could fix that!
The passenger seating (sleeping) was also just a memory, but there was enough room to string a hammock. Think of the roll going around a corner! I mean, I’d accept having a driver (I already do; I’m trained to think of myself as “he who rides shotgun”). Seriously, this rig had it all (although I didn’t find the siren control).
A big Diesel motor, which means that I could tank at the pump station that’s always empty. No more waiting for guys with a big family and a cooler on the tailgate. A real roar, which means power, instead of a bad muffler. Or so I’ve been told: I don’t really know that much about muscle cars.
Yes, somewhere, there is a used utility vehicle, waiting for me to stake my claim. Time to start buying those odd For Sale magazines at the local garage.
