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Could my 1988 Oldsmobile Classic be a female car?

Could my 1988 Oldsmobile Classic be a female car?

Posted: Friday, January 1, 2010 8:01 pm
By: By John Brannon

Could my 1988 Oldsmobile Classic be a female car? | John Brannon, Just A Thought
A few weeks ago I wrote a column about my faithful old car, a 1988 Oldsmobile Classic that at the time had racked up 296,000 miles on its odometer.
At the time, the Cash for Clunkers program was well under way. I said that I knew my car qualified but I couldn’t bring myself to part with it because the car is me and I am the car. Besides, I owe it loyalty because it served me nigh unto 10 years. Much used, much abused, was this magnificent motor machine.
Here’s a synopsis of the pain it has endured:
• It hit two deer and survived.
• It ran off Reelfoot Avenue into a ditch that somebody moved.
• It ran off a driveway and banged the undercarriage on a curb and punched a hole in the transmission fluid pan.
• It brushed close to a post in the garage and banged the mirror on the passenger side.
On top of all that, its paint job is flecked, its rearview mirror missing and its radio a genuine nightmare.
I drove it every day. Short trips, long trips, even trips down to the pasture pond. It still kept picking them up and laying them down to the tune of 27 miles a gallon.
And in all those years it never refused to crank.
I was so proud of it. And I told it so. I am in full agreement with the beliefs of the Indians of old. They believed that inanimate objects such as rocks, trees and cars have spirits. I am convinced my old car has one.
Several times, when I got back from a trip to Tupelo or Jackson or wherever, as I pulled into the driveway, I’d reach out and pat it on the dash and tell it what a swell job it did. And I’d say “Thank you” in a way that it knew the special sentiments came straight from the heart.
Well, that was then and this is now. The worm has turned, as goes the expression in Old Choctaw. I am no longer driving the Olds. I’m driving a Cadillac. A 1999 model Cadillac. I bought it in late November at Herman Jenkins Motors. It is just what I needed. Not only is it a dream to drive, it brings bright prospects of a greatly enhanced social life, if you get my drift.
At this point, you may be saying, “But what did you do with your old car?”
The day I bought the Cadillac — soon as all the paperwork and insurance and stuff was done — I drove the Olds to the house and parked it in the driveway. I transferred certain items to the Cadillac and went merrily on my way.
You will recall I said earlier that in all those years that old car never refused to crank. Well, three days after I parked it in the driveway, I needed to move it.
But it wouldn’t crank. Dead as a doorknob.
I consulted Bobby Hall, a merciful mechanic who knows a thing or two about motor cars. Hall gave it a look and said some evil something was dragging the battery down. So he brought it in to see what he could do.
But it was Arthur Melton — he of long, long years of service in the military and at The Messenger — who figured out the problem. He asked where my old car was, and I told him the story start to finish.
“Your old car is probably a female car. She’s throwing a fit because she’s jealous you traded her in for a younger model,” he said gravely.
Thereby was the truth revealed, truth in all its glory. Who would have thought that Arthur Melton would be a soothsayer? Yet he divined the problem like a true professional.
A quaint proverb keeps coming back like a song: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
The Indians of old would nod in agreement as if to say, “We told you so.”
Staff Reporter John Brannon may be contacted by e-mail at
Published in The Messenger 1.1.10


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