Flashback: The Enchilada

Circa Summer 2008:

It was my turn to drive to baseball. I had just picked up my teammates Rob and Shaun and was turning onto Dundas. The two of them were having a whale of time making fun of the car. At one point, a truck pulled out of a parking space on our right and made a U-turn in front of us, blocking traffic in the process. Rob was indignant about the manoeuvre, then realized the guy was staring at us.

Rob said, “What is he looking at?”

I waved and smiled at the truck driver as he passed by. To Rob, I said, “The car, Rob. He’s looking at the car.”

The car was a 1991 black convertible Lebaron. It was dented, the finish on the hood and trunk were gone, like someone had poured acid on it, and the hubcaps had, one by one, run for freedom the previous summer. The convertible roof, having rotted at the seams, was now entirely composed of duct tape. And it had recently been given a make-over: the tape, black and white, was woven in a very large houndstooth pattern.

Yeah, that guy was definitely staring at the car.

Rob and Shaun dissolved into laughter that lasted until we hit the highway. As I accelerated to merge, Shaun leaned forward from the back seat to get a closer look at the dash.

“Whoah,” he said, “You are pulling down some serious RPMs.”

That car was the most fun I’ve ever had driving. I miss the Enchilada.