The Tank
The year was 1981, when I started my first job. It was my senior year in High School and I was completing my certificate from Tulsa Vo-Tech, as it used to be called, for Fashion Production and Merchandising. I was hired by Miss Jacksons in Utica Square to work in the alterations department. I loved working in the square. It did not take long to overcome the fear of cutting fabric off of a pair of designer pants that cost more than a months salary. The names Mioko and Alfreda bring smiles to my memories. They were such amazing seamstresses with varied history. Mioko, who was from Japan, gave me her ring thimble which I still use today. Alfreda was from Germany and she shared her culture of growing up in Nazi Germany. AMAZING, when I think back. I digress!
I was the third child to drive mom's old car. It was lovingly referred to as 'The Tank". This wonderful machine was indeed a tank. It was a 1970 Chevy Impala, V-8 four door Sedan painted dark green with a white vinyl top. My oldest sister had driven the car her junior and senior year, 1977-79 and had added a few pieces of character. The driver side window whistled when you drove, but if you hit the window with the ball of your fist, it would stop. It became a ritual to smack the window, until the window mechanism had warped to the point that the glass no longer touched the door frame. Whoopie, no more whistle, however, rain then ran inside the car!
My second sister drove the car her junior and senior year 1979-81 and added a few more character traits. The radio would quit working unless you pounded on the dash with the ball of your fist. SO... pound away long enough and the entire plastic dash will splinter into a hundred fractures. It was all just cosmetic, when you think about it. The engine still ran! At some point the steering wheel cracked, probably from Oklahoma summer heat. In those day a steering wheel was a solid plastic wheel, so the break widened in the heat and very much resembled the gap I use to have between my two front teeth. I do have a hysterical memory of the day that the windshield wipers came on and would not turn off. I was the sophomore passenger so all I could do was laugh. I thought my sister was going to die of embarrassment as we drove through the school parking lot on this bright sunshiny day with our windshield wipers screaming as they were dragged over the dry windshield. Oh the things that we thought were embarrassing! The part I really remember was her ordering me to look straight ahead and "do not make eye contact with anyone!" ROFL!
By the time I was given the keys for my senior year, 1981-82, it had a few more mars. The rain so frequently soaked the carpet that mold had begun to grow in the floor boards and the white vinyl top had deteriorated to the point that it had bald spots. Cosmetic failures didn't keep me from sliding on the ice roads in front of the KVOO towers and going in the ditch. They also did not keep me from driving right out of that ditch without any help! She was a tank! The icy day I went into the ditch, I was headed home for lunch before I went to work. My dad worked right up the road so I called him when I got home to come check and make sure the car was OK. I certainly didn't want to drive all the way to Utica if something was damaged underneath the car. My oldest sister chided me for telling on myself. She said I shouldn't have told dad, because he would no longer trust my driving. I was curious how she would have explained the grass hanging off the front bumper. Actually, it turns out that Dad trusted me more because he knew I would always rat myself out. But I digress, again!
I got my first speeding ticket in the Tank. I was driving 60 mph in a 55 zone on 244 headed to the BA crossover. The Police officer thought I was running away because I didn't stop until after the exchange onto the BA. My thought was that there was a wide shoulder I could pullover on after we cleared the exit ramp. He wasn't happy with my decision. I remember thinking about our friend, the highway patrolman, who was killed by a passing car. I was honestly trying to not stop in a dangerous spot. He probably didn't trust me because I was driving a tank!
The point of this rant is a memory of the day I was driving home, from Utica Square, coming from work, wearing a dress, six thirty at night, stack pack on 244-I44 at the merge, only to hear this strange knocking noise coming from what appeared to be the roof. This was quickly followed by a loud, long tearing sound. As I looked in my rear view mirror, all I could see was a sail flapping in the wind following along behind me. YES, the vinyl top had caught wind under it and was now happily winging its way behind me like a train on a wedding dress. I pulled to the shoulder in abject humiliation, got out, climbed on the trunk of the car (in my dress and heels) to tear off the remaining attached portion of my car top. IN RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC! I remember laughing, but not as much as I am laughing now. Because I had been previously rear ended by a taxi cab, you couldn't open the trunk without a screw driver, so I had to get back in the car to get the screw driver out of the glove box, so I could put the remnants of a vinyl top in the trunk. If embarrassment could kill, I would be dead! But, she drove fine!
Mom and Dad gave us that car after I got married and we took it all the way to Wyoming. We moved to Dallas with it and James drove it to work every day. We traded it in in 1986 for a truck! She was a good TANK!
I was the third child to drive mom's old car. It was lovingly referred to as 'The Tank". This wonderful machine was indeed a tank. It was a 1970 Chevy Impala, V-8 four door Sedan painted dark green with a white vinyl top. My oldest sister had driven the car her junior and senior year, 1977-79 and had added a few pieces of character. The driver side window whistled when you drove, but if you hit the window with the ball of your fist, it would stop. It became a ritual to smack the window, until the window mechanism had warped to the point that the glass no longer touched the door frame. Whoopie, no more whistle, however, rain then ran inside the car!
My second sister drove the car her junior and senior year 1979-81 and added a few more character traits. The radio would quit working unless you pounded on the dash with the ball of your fist. SO... pound away long enough and the entire plastic dash will splinter into a hundred fractures. It was all just cosmetic, when you think about it. The engine still ran! At some point the steering wheel cracked, probably from Oklahoma summer heat. In those day a steering wheel was a solid plastic wheel, so the break widened in the heat and very much resembled the gap I use to have between my two front teeth. I do have a hysterical memory of the day that the windshield wipers came on and would not turn off. I was the sophomore passenger so all I could do was laugh. I thought my sister was going to die of embarrassment as we drove through the school parking lot on this bright sunshiny day with our windshield wipers screaming as they were dragged over the dry windshield. Oh the things that we thought were embarrassing! The part I really remember was her ordering me to look straight ahead and "do not make eye contact with anyone!" ROFL!
By the time I was given the keys for my senior year, 1981-82, it had a few more mars. The rain so frequently soaked the carpet that mold had begun to grow in the floor boards and the white vinyl top had deteriorated to the point that it had bald spots. Cosmetic failures didn't keep me from sliding on the ice roads in front of the KVOO towers and going in the ditch. They also did not keep me from driving right out of that ditch without any help! She was a tank! The icy day I went into the ditch, I was headed home for lunch before I went to work. My dad worked right up the road so I called him when I got home to come check and make sure the car was OK. I certainly didn't want to drive all the way to Utica if something was damaged underneath the car. My oldest sister chided me for telling on myself. She said I shouldn't have told dad, because he would no longer trust my driving. I was curious how she would have explained the grass hanging off the front bumper. Actually, it turns out that Dad trusted me more because he knew I would always rat myself out. But I digress, again!
I got my first speeding ticket in the Tank. I was driving 60 mph in a 55 zone on 244 headed to the BA crossover. The Police officer thought I was running away because I didn't stop until after the exchange onto the BA. My thought was that there was a wide shoulder I could pullover on after we cleared the exit ramp. He wasn't happy with my decision. I remember thinking about our friend, the highway patrolman, who was killed by a passing car. I was honestly trying to not stop in a dangerous spot. He probably didn't trust me because I was driving a tank!
The point of this rant is a memory of the day I was driving home, from Utica Square, coming from work, wearing a dress, six thirty at night, stack pack on 244-I44 at the merge, only to hear this strange knocking noise coming from what appeared to be the roof. This was quickly followed by a loud, long tearing sound. As I looked in my rear view mirror, all I could see was a sail flapping in the wind following along behind me. YES, the vinyl top had caught wind under it and was now happily winging its way behind me like a train on a wedding dress. I pulled to the shoulder in abject humiliation, got out, climbed on the trunk of the car (in my dress and heels) to tear off the remaining attached portion of my car top. IN RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC! I remember laughing, but not as much as I am laughing now. Because I had been previously rear ended by a taxi cab, you couldn't open the trunk without a screw driver, so I had to get back in the car to get the screw driver out of the glove box, so I could put the remnants of a vinyl top in the trunk. If embarrassment could kill, I would be dead! But, she drove fine!
Mom and Dad gave us that car after I got married and we took it all the way to Wyoming. We moved to Dallas with it and James drove it to work every day. We traded it in in 1986 for a truck! She was a good TANK!
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