Chapter Four: Second Sophomore Year
(Some of us were on the five-year plan. Deal with it.)
- The Bug runs considerably better this year than the one before. Hooray!
- During finals week for fall semester, I paint flames on the hood of the Bug using a stencil devised from contact paper and seven cans of Krylon spray paint. It is a definite eyesore, yet still an improvement on the old rusted hood.
Flamer
- At the beginning of winter semester, I volunteer to work at the Sundance Film Festival. Due to concerns that the Bug can't make the trek from Provo to Park City and back every night, I specifically volunteer to work at the screening room at the Sundance Resort, located 15 minutes up Provo Canyon. One night halfway through the Festival, there is a heavy snowfall. By the time my shift ends, the Bug is buried under a foot of the white stuff. It takes some time to brush it off, and when I finally do, I am the last to leave the parking lot. As an AZ girl, I am ill-equipped for snow driving, as is the ultralight, rear-wheel drive Bug. Within minutes of leaving the resort, we are spinning donuts like crazy. I purposely crash the Bug into a bank of snow to avoid driving into the Provo River. As I prepare to spend the night in the car, I wish I had a blanket and/or a flashlight and/or food and/or a floor without holes in it. I don't yet know about cell phones, but if I did, I would wish for one of those, too. After a few minutes, a large truck pulls up and three guys hop out. They are local "ski bums"—they work minimum wage jobs at Sundance in order to ski for free all winter long. Unlike a lot of Utahns, they are not LDS. They tell me the road is closed, but that they will use chains to tow the Bug back up to the parking lot and then they will take me to their mountain cabin until the roads are plowed in the morning. I thank them profusely for rescuing me; at the same time, I mentally prepare to die young at their hands. The road to the mountain cabin is long and dark and totally disconcerting, but the cabin itself is quite warm and cheery and I am given a tour and fed Lucky Charms by a few of the many male ski bums who apparently reside there. I feel a little like Snow White only, as usual, everyone is taller than me. The bums lend me some sweats and a room of my own for the night. The next morning, I am awakened at 5 a.m. by one of the bums who says "I can hear the plow!" Following directly behind the plow, he wonderfully drives me all the way down the Canyon to my Provo apartment. On the way, we see many cars in the Provo River. I promise to go watch the bums' band play at Pier 54, but never do. A week later, Leslie wonderfully drives me all over tarnation in an attempt to retrieve the Bug, which has now been impounded.
- Although things are going well mechanically, by February, I realize I have fallen out of love with the Bug. My roommate has the coolest car of the moment—a Dodge neon—and it is so nice ride in it, what with the armrests and cupholders and trunk space and lack of burning oil smell and all. As sad as it makes me, I promise Dave and Mary that I will not attempt to bring the Bug to Phoenix again, and that I will sell it before the summer.
- Bored, I paint the entire Bug with a red and white two-tone scheme using 72 cans of Krylon spray paint. Coincidentally, it is Utah’s last really snowy winter. (Sorry, ozone. Sorry, Al Gore. You're welcome, Krylon.)
- The Bug stars in every single one of my film school projects this semester. Much to her consternation, camera-shy Mrs. Gee also stars in most of my film school projects this semester. McCauley Culkin has a few cameos. Mrs. Gee is given the stressful onscreen task of driving the Bug all over Provo despite her lack of manual transmission experience. I pay her back by honoring her wish to never show the films to anyone outside of class, especially Mr. Gee. (And by the way, this was written before any reminders from Mrs. Gee.)
- In late April, it hits me that Dave is picking Mrs. Gee and me up from school in two days and I have completely forgotten to sell the Bug. After my Wilk board postings fail to generate leads, I ask my dearest friend, the VW mechanic, if he knows anyone who would want to buy a spray-painted, holey, “air-cooled” car within twenty-four hours. He does not, but suggests I check in with a fishy consignment car dealer located behind Deseret Industries. I do and they agree to take the Bug on consignment. They have me sign over the title and give them my keys for absolutely nothing in exchange. Not even a post-it that says "we have your car." I bid a melancholy adieu to my beloved Bug.
- Summer is harsher than I expected without the Bug. especially for Dave and Mary (and occasionally Mrs. Dub). I get a call center job for the summer; my shift starts at 4 a.m. Because I have no car, Dave and Mary have to drive me to work.
- About two months into the summer, just when I'm convinced I've been ripped off, I receive a check in the mail for the Bug with no explanation.
Will I ever receive even a post-it explaining the terms of the sale? When is CB going to make his much anticipated appearance in this story? Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion…
8 comments:
there are soOo many funny moments to comment on, but i am too tired... suffice it to say that i laughed a lot... and really, i LOLd--your mom heard me.
HAHAHA!! I'm very glad you didn't die young at the hands of the ski bums and you survived to entertain me every few days with your blog. Seriously, you crack me up.
i was going to say, there was a serious lack of CB references in this blog as he has become the silent star of these chronicles.
on a more serious note, do you have feeling in your index fingers after all that spray painting? because i painted a few frames the other day and lost all feeling in the tip of my right index digit due to pressing the sprayer so hard.
i can't believe you spray painted your entire car red.
oh wait, yes i can. :)
glad i was available to help you in your time of need. the ironic thing is that my jimmy, the self-same car in which we drove all over tarnation, met its bitter end in a roll-over in snow-packed provo canyon early one morning the next year.
and i had to be driven to the dead car lot to take the license plates off for sentimental reasons.
I don't think I'd ever heard that Sundance story; holy moly! This story has more twists & turns than I'd realized! She sure looked pretty in the red/white scheme though. Or is it "he?" Did you ever give him/her an official name?
I HAD heard the Sundance story, but that's not to say I didn't catch my breath a few times reading it.
Can you SEE me shaking my finger at you?!
ginny, that is every girls dream come true. rescued by a bunch of cute (i'm assuming) ski bums.
Krylon stock. Another missed chance to make a million, up in flurocarbons.
Better the snowbank and chancy overnighter with the ski bum patrol than rafting the Provo River in that VW. Those floating ones in the old commercials had floorboards I think.
Personally, I thought the flames and the red & white paint job were among the finest open air, sun dried, free hand, cheap enamel spray can car painting jobs I ever saw. Earl Schieb would have been jealous.
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