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There’s an air of excitement that I get every time I wake up in the morning. It’s got nothing to do with the endorphins I’ll most definitely be getting from hitting the gym. It most certainly doesn’t have anything to do with work-related activities. No, no.
My excitement comes entirely from knowing that right after I take a piss, brush my teeth, and throw my workout clothes on, I’m going to get to drive my car to the gym. And I’m not just talking about any old car here.
Chicago winters are bitterly cold, and other than wet socks, there aren’t many things more uncomfortable than getting into a car that hasn’t been warmed up beforehand. The steering wheel is cold to the touch, so much so that you can sometimes feel it through your driving gloves.
Cars are somewhat of a luxury here in Chiberia. Not many people have them, and if we’re being totally honest here I don’t really need one all that bad.
As luck would have it though, my dad gifted me an ‘08 Impala a few years back because he had already paid it off and he was looking at leasing a Buick. I kept it, with the idea being that I could use it to get back to my childhood home once every few months and for a once-weekly trip to the grocery store. And while the best part of waking up used to be a piping hot cup of Folgers, it’s now been replaced by the soft purr of my engine turning on as my thumb presses the remote starter from inside. What can I say? I’m in love with the thing.
The 2008 Chevrolet Impala is one of the most popular cars of the mid-2000s. I know this because the mechanic in Drive lets Ryan Gosling’s character know it.
It’s a perfectly crafted American piece of machinery with tons of frills that scream “I’m better than you, and I know it”: remote start, air conditioning, a CD player equipped with an auxiliary port, and three, yes three 12 volt accessory sockets. And that’s not even the best part.
Up until this point, I’ve neglected to mention that I’ve got cloth interior in this bitch, which some people would frown upon, but I’ve always maintained is much classier than leather.
Think about it: leather is easily cleaned if a spill happens or god forbid somebody vomits inside. But in no way does luxury coincide with the word “easy.” Cloth is much more difficult, which means the threshold goes up for who is allowed inside of my car. I can’t just be letting anyone inside of a jet black ‘08 Impala with cloth interior and automatic windows. Clientele must be checked and re-checked for priors and ride-along-ability.
When I pull up to a function in an ‘08 Impala that hasn’t been washed in a month, not only do people balk, they pay respect when I hop out of the whip and toss my keys to the valet.
It’s not uncommon for people to come up to me and ask if my car is for sale and I can’t even lie to you – I’ve gotten laid in the backseat a few times. Is that an undercover cop? A retiree trying to get to a dinner spot at 4:30 so he can beat the rush? I’m afraid not. It’s John Duda.
It’s the versatility of a car like this that makes it so special. Blasting Frank Sinatra or Michael Buble in the Impala is perfectly normal, but I can also turn around and bump something like “Me OK” by Young Jeezy and people won’t bat an eye.
You can’t get away with shit like that in any other car without being labeled. My ‘08 Impala is sort of a chameleon in that way. It can shapeshift into different personalities at the drop of a hat without anyone being the wiser, and at 90,000 miles with no real signs of breakdown, I can honestly tell you that I hope to be driving this sucker for another seven to ten years.
The beauty of the Impala lies in this versatility that I’m talking about, and let’s be honest – those perks I mentioned? I mean I don’t like to brag about superficial stuff like that but how can I not? The air conditioning, hand operated reclinable seats, remote start, automatic windows, CD player, and all-cloth interior? Well that’s just the life of a big baller like me. In the words of Demi Lovato, sorry not sorry..
Image via Car Domain