What Drives You?

It’s been more than a month since I started gyrating to the tune of Jazz, and the melody continues to add colour to my otherwise staid life. Much like how Edward in the VW Jetta ad loves keeping his week chockfull of lessons so he can sit in the said car, I like going to training now because I get to drive my Jazz. It might be melodramatic to expound on how the car has completely transformed my life, but that is exactly what has happened, or rather, continues to happen as we speak. No more long MRT journeys where I sometimes fall asleep while standing, or nerve-wrecking experiences where, as Murphy’s Law might have it, cabs just don’t appear at the time you need them most, like during a downpour, or when you are already late. It panders to my control freak nature because I am now in complete charge of my time, not the loud-mouth taxi-driver whose smokes in his vehicle, sneezes into the air-con vent, and rejects your $50 note.

Yet revving a $91K metallic body on the asphalt can be rather stressful, especially when you are fresh out of driving school and have the driving skills of a chimpanzee. I remember sweating buckets just deciding when to filter lanes on an arterial road, and each time I am horned at (either because I’m too slow, or too abrupt), my morale drops. I will say I have improved since, and there are shameful moments which I shall not mention in detail here. Those who have seen my photos will also know that my parking skills remain to be honed. I have had Samaritans waving their hands frantically to tell me I am too close to the adjacent vehicle, only to leave me red-faced and driving off to a far remote corner where I can park slowly and try multiple times without the scrutiny of the public eye. 30 days on and I am still working on it. Those who’ve been in my car will attest to my abysmal parking. Let’s not even begin to mention parallel maneuvering; it’s probably enough to say that the last I did it, was during the practical test.

The fortunate thing about the lack of parking skills is that the deficits can be corrected with repeated practice. I have, however, witnessed irresponsible driving behavior that’ll probably take intense psychotherapy to rectify. Perhaps my luminous green-orange label on the windscreen makes me a perfect bully victim, but taxi drivers (yes, them again) who make a last-minute, close-to-90-degree filter across 3 lanes within 10 meters of the junction, just so he can reach the right-turn lane (and not to mention, blocking my way in the process because the right-turn lane vehicles are not admitting him), make my knuckles crack and hungry for a face to land on. I certainly hope I do not develop these bad habits as I continue on the roads. To balance things up, I have also met drivers who slow down and allow a tentative P-plate vehicle into their lane. Times like this make me want to install some form of LED display at the back so I can flash “Thank you!” at them.

The Jazz has been a great drive thus far, and I am enjoying every single moment in it (minus the road rage ones). In all honesty, I would love to wash it every week. I remember starting off eager, having gone all the way to Marina Square’s Homefix to get the car shampoo, 3M car sponge, microfiber cloth and other branded cleaning essentials. Alas, all these equipment remain untouched in my room. I have never actually got down to clean my Jazz, and I let the occasional torrential rain do the job a water jet would in a car wash. I am ashamed of such nonchalance, yet as an excuse I always quote my car agent who proclaims that the car is meant to serve us, and we should not be slaves to the vehicle, spending hours just to get a showroom-worthy sheen. A part of me thinks that is pure indolence, but a quick survey among other car owners reveal that most of them don’t really bother cleaning the vehicle themselves either. It might therefore be more than a coincidence that every time I pass by a car in the washing bay of my MSCP, I see only a Filipino maid and nobody else within a 10-meter radius. I think my let-the-rain-wash-my-car strategy in our equatorial climate remains pretty sound, thus I do not see the need to invest in a can of car wax or a Leticia counterpart, for now.

Notwithstanding, a bikini-clad lady (who for whatever unfathomable reason decide to coat herself with car shampoo) will be a delicious alternative. =)