Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Late summer, wine flowed. Late fall and this winter’s birth, it was champagne.

I brought my car Sgt. Joey Pepper, or just Joey, home on a blustery, late November evening. I hopped the streetcar straight from work, got to the dealership, and signed the papers that made her mine.

Specifics at Mini and the car tutorial took about an hour; power windows, heated seats; which switch did what, etc. etc. And then, the salesman handed me the key. It was a big black laser cut thingamajig, with a MINI crest in black and silver hanging from the ring.

Mini doesn’t call them keys. Keeping in touch with their idiosyncratic customer base, Mini calls them Wings. The salesman put the wings into my outstretched hand, smiled knowingly when I squealed and then said, “Welcome to the family.”

Welcome to the family, he said. The quirky, charismatic car I’d been wanting forever was finally here. And it was all for me.

Baby I will drive my car
Yes I’m gonna be a star
Baby I will drive my car
And yes I will love it

Beep beep’m beep beep yeah!

The Mini dealership, or at least this one, lets their cars go from inside the building, opening a big glass garage door after you start the engine . And then, out you motor. On my own, here we go, driving my very own auto-mobile at that.

Oh, that first drive. I was ecstatic. I was jubilant, elated and skipped seventh heaven while bounding straight to eighth.

I was also a wreck. Over and over in my head flashed Joey’s price tag, a bill my parents had (most lovingly) footed; that five-figure statement of doom that takes me from responsible driver, to squirmy mess.

I can’t bear to disappoint my parents. You can call it a tick or you can call it paranoia, it’s just me. My hands were shaking on that smaller-than-usual steering wheel the Mini is known for, making it seem more like driving in a video game, than driving a real car.

And, wouldn’t you know it, when I was halfway through the drive “Blitzkrieg Bop” came onto the radio. I took that, Joey’s first Ramone, as a clear cut sign that I was right where I was supposed to be.

Somehow, I got back to the units’ house (in one piece), where everyone proceeded to appropriately gush over Joey, and cast some Eastern voodoo.

My family is full of oddities. Mom’s gave me a pouch with a piece of bread, some salt, needle & thread inside that she told me to keep in the glove compartment. It would bring me luck, she said. Her best friend tossed a few blessings in the car’s direction, and Oli hung a super funky St. Christopher medallion from my rearview. St. Christopher is the patron saint of travelers, drivers and surfers.

I’ve traveled, I’ve driven, but that last ticker I’ve never had the chance to try. Note to Self: surfing lessons. One day.

My own voodoo started before I got back into the driver’s seat to get back to my loft. I did what I do before I set foot on every plane I’ve ever been on: I kiss my right thumb, and touch it to the fuselage before stepping inside.

Joey doesn’t have fuselage, but she’s got one heck of a nice body. I kissed my thumb, touched her roof, got back inside and drove off.

It was a smooth journey. Smooth is good.

But we weren’t done with the good luck charms just yet, she and I. Sandy came over that night, with a bottle of champagne which we poured into a couple of glasses, and enjoyed.

No, we didn’t. Not exactly like that, anyway. That bottle wasn’t for us, so much as it was for Joey. See, Sandy’s family has this tradition where every new car that comes onto their driveway gets a bit of a christening. With champagne.

Sandy handed me a bottle of Asti down in my parking garage, and when I popped the cork it flew a good 30 feet. And then, I poured some champagne over each of Joey’s four tires.

Welcome to the family indeed, little pepper white car. May all our journeys be smooth, perfectly uneventful, and totally Rock ‘n Roll.

I look back on that day with a smile. It was a lot of fuss to make for a car, I know. After all, it’s just a car.

But I also know it’s more than that, and everyone who was a part of that day knew it, too. It’s the beginning of something different, no?