Sexyback
"Oh crap."
That was the first thing I thought when I was faced with the reality of driving home with Jerren to our respective Temecula Valley homes. Jerren had been going home to Temecula every weekend - or close to it - for the length of our careers at the University. Every weekend would be the same. My roommate Matt, or my roommate Robbie and I would always ask each other when Friday afternoon rolled around the same question, over and over for at least two years, "Where's Jerren?" We always knew what the answer was, there was no point in asking. Every week he would drive home to be a part of the goings-on in his Temecula (or more correctly, Murrieta) life. One week he would see the girl he was dating at the time, another week, she'd be gone and he'd teach Sunday School at the local church. Whatever the reason, he was always gone. Every weekend.
When it finally came time for one of us to need a ride out to "the desert" as our dastardly Orange County influence had swayed us into referring to it, Jerren was our man. His weekly trip out to the valley had become a routine, one that the rest of us from that area did not look forward to if we ever had to make the trip out, so it had become easy for him, even when his car seemed to protest the idea as well.
Sexyback. That was the term of endearment Jerren had given his beloved car, inspired by Justin Timberlake's 2006 smash hit. It was a 1971 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, with the character battered appearance of a warrior, advanced in age. This car had seen it all and it had the marks to prove it. Originally a gift for 16 year-old Jerren to drive his brother and sister to school, Sexyback was now a mode of Orange County to Riverside county one-stop transportation. He loved this car. Once a bright-eyed sixteen year old with dreams of restoring this antique beauty to the cosmetic quality of it's inner beauty, Jerren was now just appreciative to have this classic car, it didn't matter what shape it was in, to drive home in style each weekend to his family's home.
Sexyback was not without her problems however. Like the ancient warrior that she was, the battles of her life had been contributing to her slow, yet eminent death. One of the first rides I ever took in Jerren's car was to the hip little after-hours food joint across from our university: Jack in the Box. The nightly trips, sometimes bi-nightly, were characterized by a typical rochambeau between the potential drivers for the across-the-street trip for food. Occasionally, but not often, Jerren was chosen as the driver to the food establishment that would satisfy our hunger pangs at midnight, after all, the cafeteria was closed that late at night. One particular night, it was Jerren's turn to drive. Four of us did our best to pile in to the car, slightly deterred by the faulty passenger door handle that didn't seem to want us inside. As we pulled out of the parking lot, we all had to poke our heads out of the windows of the car. for some unknown reason, the windshield had some kind of a fixation with fogginess. It liked becoming foggy so much that it wouldn't stop being so for a defroster or a clean wipe of the windshield, no sir.
Another of the poor car's ailments would prove to be the most challenging to our ride home. Let's make that two additional problems. First of all, in her latter days Sexyback's interior roof upholstry began to peel off from the edges. If the problem had been limited to solely the peeling of this upholstry, i don't think either of us would have minded so much, but this car was magical. Somehow the upholstry was made out of fiberglass or some other kind of dangerous material that car manufacturers learned the hard way shouldn't be included in the process of building cars that people drive. This upholstry was itchy stuff. Every bump, every sharp turn, every excited hoorah for a favorite song coming over the airwaves and into our malfunctioning radio caused the crispy, crunchy, flaky crust of the roof to spill onto our heads like a bad case of dandruff. They car spewed the substance upon us as though we had mistreated it and it was getting us back, and each time it was worse. Larger and larger pieces of this substance continued to fall down on us and make us ever more uncomfortable, and just when we thought we could take it no longer, Sexyback decided to do something else to us. As we were driving and we had begun to think the worst of the trip was over, the car began to lose power. It was filled with gas, it had enough oil, but at freeway speeds int he most unforgiving of Lake Elsinore neighborhoods, the car let us down. After the bout of rattles and shakes and a new coat of fiberglass celing dust that covered our clothes in a rusty gray drizzle, we found ourselves outside the car strenuously pushing it with all our might. I believe that I a may have burst a blood vessel. The built-up frustration that Jerren and I shared was certain to translate into enough physical energy to push the car into motion and engine functionality, or so we thought...
Sexyback sprung forth with life! Her engine began to hum with the fervency of a muscle car as Jerren hopped back inside the car and dropped the barely-functioning clutch. We'd done it! We had successfully restarted the car and were in for a comfortable ride all the way home and into the luxury of a squishy couch and Jerren's dad's home cooking! Just as soon as we'd exhaled a sigh of relief and almost forgotten about the car troubles that had plagued us only moments before, Sexyback surprised us and let us know that the battle was not yet over. She began to spew and sputter and gargle once more, this time, it would be for good. As the joltingly slowed with sporadic deceleration, we braced ourselves against the interior of the car, not knowing what to expect. Once the car had been pulled over to the side of the road as safely as was possible - which, on the scale of safe to dangerous was very much more on the dangerous side of the scale - and then disembarked from the vehicle. I faintly remember one last feeble attempt to push start the car, but we failed. Jerren and I pushed the car down the offramp, off the freeway and far down a menacing street in Lake Elsinore. We ended our journey a CVS Pharmacy parking lot where we were greeted there by a wonderfully cliche family of Lake Elsinore residents.
That was the first thing I thought when I was faced with the reality of driving home with Jerren to our respective Temecula Valley homes. Jerren had been going home to Temecula every weekend - or close to it - for the length of our careers at the University. Every weekend would be the same. My roommate Matt, or my roommate Robbie and I would always ask each other when Friday afternoon rolled around the same question, over and over for at least two years, "Where's Jerren?" We always knew what the answer was, there was no point in asking. Every week he would drive home to be a part of the goings-on in his Temecula (or more correctly, Murrieta) life. One week he would see the girl he was dating at the time, another week, she'd be gone and he'd teach Sunday School at the local church. Whatever the reason, he was always gone. Every weekend.
When it finally came time for one of us to need a ride out to "the desert" as our dastardly Orange County influence had swayed us into referring to it, Jerren was our man. His weekly trip out to the valley had become a routine, one that the rest of us from that area did not look forward to if we ever had to make the trip out, so it had become easy for him, even when his car seemed to protest the idea as well.
Sexyback. That was the term of endearment Jerren had given his beloved car, inspired by Justin Timberlake's 2006 smash hit. It was a 1971 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, with the character battered appearance of a warrior, advanced in age. This car had seen it all and it had the marks to prove it. Originally a gift for 16 year-old Jerren to drive his brother and sister to school, Sexyback was now a mode of Orange County to Riverside county one-stop transportation. He loved this car. Once a bright-eyed sixteen year old with dreams of restoring this antique beauty to the cosmetic quality of it's inner beauty, Jerren was now just appreciative to have this classic car, it didn't matter what shape it was in, to drive home in style each weekend to his family's home.
Sexyback was not without her problems however. Like the ancient warrior that she was, the battles of her life had been contributing to her slow, yet eminent death. One of the first rides I ever took in Jerren's car was to the hip little after-hours food joint across from our university: Jack in the Box. The nightly trips, sometimes bi-nightly, were characterized by a typical rochambeau between the potential drivers for the across-the-street trip for food. Occasionally, but not often, Jerren was chosen as the driver to the food establishment that would satisfy our hunger pangs at midnight, after all, the cafeteria was closed that late at night. One particular night, it was Jerren's turn to drive. Four of us did our best to pile in to the car, slightly deterred by the faulty passenger door handle that didn't seem to want us inside. As we pulled out of the parking lot, we all had to poke our heads out of the windows of the car. for some unknown reason, the windshield had some kind of a fixation with fogginess. It liked becoming foggy so much that it wouldn't stop being so for a defroster or a clean wipe of the windshield, no sir.
Another of the poor car's ailments would prove to be the most challenging to our ride home. Let's make that two additional problems. First of all, in her latter days Sexyback's interior roof upholstry began to peel off from the edges. If the problem had been limited to solely the peeling of this upholstry, i don't think either of us would have minded so much, but this car was magical. Somehow the upholstry was made out of fiberglass or some other kind of dangerous material that car manufacturers learned the hard way shouldn't be included in the process of building cars that people drive. This upholstry was itchy stuff. Every bump, every sharp turn, every excited hoorah for a favorite song coming over the airwaves and into our malfunctioning radio caused the crispy, crunchy, flaky crust of the roof to spill onto our heads like a bad case of dandruff. They car spewed the substance upon us as though we had mistreated it and it was getting us back, and each time it was worse. Larger and larger pieces of this substance continued to fall down on us and make us ever more uncomfortable, and just when we thought we could take it no longer, Sexyback decided to do something else to us. As we were driving and we had begun to think the worst of the trip was over, the car began to lose power. It was filled with gas, it had enough oil, but at freeway speeds int he most unforgiving of Lake Elsinore neighborhoods, the car let us down. After the bout of rattles and shakes and a new coat of fiberglass celing dust that covered our clothes in a rusty gray drizzle, we found ourselves outside the car strenuously pushing it with all our might. I believe that I a may have burst a blood vessel. The built-up frustration that Jerren and I shared was certain to translate into enough physical energy to push the car into motion and engine functionality, or so we thought...
Sexyback sprung forth with life! Her engine began to hum with the fervency of a muscle car as Jerren hopped back inside the car and dropped the barely-functioning clutch. We'd done it! We had successfully restarted the car and were in for a comfortable ride all the way home and into the luxury of a squishy couch and Jerren's dad's home cooking! Just as soon as we'd exhaled a sigh of relief and almost forgotten about the car troubles that had plagued us only moments before, Sexyback surprised us and let us know that the battle was not yet over. She began to spew and sputter and gargle once more, this time, it would be for good. As the joltingly slowed with sporadic deceleration, we braced ourselves against the interior of the car, not knowing what to expect. Once the car had been pulled over to the side of the road as safely as was possible - which, on the scale of safe to dangerous was very much more on the dangerous side of the scale - and then disembarked from the vehicle. I faintly remember one last feeble attempt to push start the car, but we failed. Jerren and I pushed the car down the offramp, off the freeway and far down a menacing street in Lake Elsinore. We ended our journey a CVS Pharmacy parking lot where we were greeted there by a wonderfully cliche family of Lake Elsinore residents.