Hey, you. You there, with the camera. What’s the big idea? Taking all those pictures with the click, click, click… You’re embarrassing me. Heck, you’re embarrassing yourself. You act like you ain’t never seen a freakin’ Chevette before. I tell ya, I’ve got as much right to be here at Whole Foods as you do, Pal. After all, if I wasn’t so cheap to run, how else do you think my owner can afford to shop at this place? I might not be much to look at, but I ain’t the least reliable thing you’ve ever seen. Go on. Admit it.
I may not have ever tore up Lake Shore Drive like some of those cabs you hear about, but my standard 70-hp 1.6L four-cylinder ticker has got some life left in it, yet. It moves all 2,100 pounds of me around these parts alright with no worries. I ain’t got no Armani suit like Mr. Fancy-Schmancy BMW next to me, but when I got this new rear hatch and taillights for 1980 to match my new, squared-off front end I got the year before, I was lookin’ pretty sharp. I mean, I was no Beau Berlinetta, to be sure, but you could do worse. Now I’ve got a few dents and such. No major crash damage, or none like that. These things happen when you belong to someone with a narrow one-car garage, thick glasses, and a tendency to…let’s say, collect things in said garage.
I’m actually one of just over 261,000 of us 5-door Chevettes produced for 1980 out of about 451,000 total that year – the most popular year, ever for us ‘Vettes. There used to be so many of us running around, we used to high-five each other at stoplights at every intersection. Many of my brothers and sisters fell a long time ago, after years of thankless service. We actually aren’t bad cars. In fact, quite the opposite. Unlike the Greek tragedy-Vega that came before me, I may not have been as nice to look at, but I got the job done a helluva lot better than that pretty P.O.S. ever did. And don’t get me started on that newfangled, fancy, front-wheel-drive Citation. Whooo, boy…
Wait…where ya goin’, Kid? You walk into a grocery store parking lot, take a bunch of pictures of me like I’m some kind of zoo animal, then you just leave without so much as even waitin’ around to talk to my owner? What kind of a nut job are you, anyway? You didn’t even buy something from the store! Don’t you go posting any bad pictures of me on the internets. Go on, you car-less punk. Scram. And have a nice day.
Edgewater, Chicago, Illinois.
Friday, April 15, 2016.