Oh Save My [Kia] Soul
- Michael Jay Tucker's explosive-cargo
- 4 days ago
- 4 min read
Okay, last time, I had us just getting on a plane for Raleigh-Durham on the way to see our friend Vincent and the whole crew, intending to celebrate his 75th birthday. I think I also mentioned that the flight was uneventful.
We got to Raleigh–Durham International Airport (a.k.a. “RDU”) and collected our baggage--which, for a moment, we thought had been lost. But, no, we had dashed to the bathroom after landing and somehow that meant we were late to the carousel. Everyone else had already collected their luggage and ours had been set aside because the staff feared we were no shows. It’s SOP for us. Remember that old joke about being late to your funeral. Well, that’s us. But, on second thought, if one must be late to something...I can’t think of a better.
We then went and picked up our rental car. There we got a bit of a scam run on our innocent selves. Martha had ordered a “mid-sized sedan.” But it seems the rental people didn’t have one on hand. So they had “upgraded us at no extra charge.”
Upgraded...to a Kia Soul.
Ever driven one? Rest assured, it is a not...repeat NOT...an upgrade from a mid-sized sedan.
About the photos: Three today. First, Martha posing in Durham at a local shop. If you look in the mirror you will see it is also a selfie. Second, please meet Soot, Vincent’s cat. We will encounter him again later. Third, and last, what looks like the mouth of a sea beast in a horror film, but it is actually only one of my infamous experiments with close ups. This is a Sweet Gum Ball (i.e., the seed packet of the Sweet Gum tree) which I found in Vincent’s yard.
Well, I guess it isn’t a bad car. I kinda liked it. Reminded me of my first car...which was a bright orange generation one Honda Civic. I used to drive it to high school. Think tiny. As in really, Really, REALLY tiny. As in that time I had to give a lift to a couple of guys from the football team and I had elbows and knees and noses sticking outta all the windows. Like hauling St. Bernards in a puppy carrier.
But I loved my little Honda. It struck by me through thick and thin. I drove it from Albuquerque to Amherst when I went to graduate school. And we drove a newborn David back from the hospital in it. So...memories.
And maybe that’s why we started out (stress on the started out) liking the Kia Soul more than we thought we would. Martha was particularly fond of the fact that it had a key rather than a push button ignition. She hates push button ignitions. She wants a *key* golly gawd dang it! Something she can hold in her fist and feel like she’s actually *starting* something. Plus the Soul had a real lever activated parking break--that you could actually reach down and pull up. Not a button. You can take a lot of satisfaction in yanking up a lever. You know you’ve really got a parking break when you’ve yanked up a lever. Not like...buttons...she says, distaste radiating in all directions.
So, like I say, we sort of like it. At first.
But...
We left the airport and got onto the highway into town. I think Martha was driving at the time, but I don’t quite remember and in the end it doesn’t matter because we both had the same experience. What happened was that once we were on the highway...and were dashing along trying to keep ahead of enormous 16 wheelers and lunatics in muscle cars on steroids and all the rest...
The Soul had pretty much...no...pickup. As in its Get-Up-N-Go had long ago gotten up and went. For good.
Martha said later that it was one of the first time in many years that she was seriously tempted to cross herself. I, who was raised partly as a Protestant and partly in the agnostic rationalist tradition, wouldn’t have known how to cross myself...but at that moment, I would have been willing to learn.
Anyway...we followed the little voice on the map app on *my* phone. (One of the reasons Martha was driving. She hates the little voice on the map app on *her* phone. She keeps arguing with it. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! And stop telling me what to do!” Makes for tense times behind the wheel. Fortunately I’m a natural born mediator.)
But, finally, we arrived at our hotel--which was called something like “The Downtown Inn.” We pulled into the parking lot.
Then Martha looked around. “What?” she said. “This can’t be right.”
I looked around. “Oh?” I said, with my usual wit and insight.
Why her disbelief?
That’s for next time. But, until then, suffice to say the Downtown Inn was neither Down nor Town.
More to come.
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