Retiring the Beretta
Since September of 1993, my father had driven his 93 2-door 4-cyl Chevrolet Beretta. Sure, it had its share of problems, mostly cosmetic, and despite the three accidents it was involved in (backed into by a truck with trailer hitch in a parking lot, sideswiped by a lady making a left turn from a righthand lane, and run off the road by an oncoming jackass turning left against traffic on a highway in mid-hill -- new hood, bumper, and passenger door), the high miles (close to 300k), and the leaky head gasket (x2)... it was still a decent car.
My parents' only other vehicle is a 2001 Chevy S10 3-door pickup. Since it barely seats 3, and neither of them can ride in the "rumble seat", I figured it was a reasonable assumption they wouldn't get rid of the car till they bought a new one, since they frequently have to take my homebody grandmother to the doctor, or on shopping excursions.
I figured wrong. My dad just sold his pride and joy for $300 to another farmer on the other side of their hill.
Apparently, the inconvenience outweighed the expenses of keeping the car. It was in need of a tune up, 4 new tires, a new exhaust system, and a new head gasket. And, (horror of horrors) according to my mom, the $180 they paid in insurance every 6 months was too much.
"How are you going to get around now? How are you getting to work when Dad needs the truck?" I asked my mom on the phone Monday.
"We're looking into alternatives," she said.
"But you can't afford a car," I laughed, "what's Dad going to do? Buy cousin Jeff's Vespa?"
"Maybe," she answered, seriously. "He's been looking at scooters."
I laughed again. "I can see you riding the ridges on a scooter, greeting people as you go, saying 'Ciao!' and looking fabulous."
"Not me," she said, "your father."
That conjured up visions of my dad in aviators jacket, leather helmet, goggles, and scarf, piloting his baby blue Vespa 150 Super up the dirt road to town, and I couldn't stop laughing. Like the scene of Priscilla crossing the Australian desert, leaving a trail of dust behind...