IS MY CAR DIRTY?

So, on the way back from The Nong the other day, I stopped into a servo on Mickleham Road to fuel up my baby.

Now, let me digress for just a moment, and give you a little background on this story. 

I live on a dirt road.  5.5 km’s of dirt, to be exact.  The council, in their infinite wisdom, chose to grade said road last week.  Now, the road needs grading on a regular basis, but choosing to do so during winter provides nothing but a headfuck for us hatchback-driving residents.

Bigger vehicles churn up the road, and it ends up resembling a fucken mud pit.  The worst of it is in front of my house. Right at the entrance to my driveway, to be exact.

So, my drive home induces the feeling of being a competitor in the World Rally Championships as I negotiate Majors Line Road, and slide sideways into my driveway, Tokyo Drift style. 

Actually, it’s possibly more Ace Ventura style.

Anyway; back to the service station.

I’m standing there filling up my car, minding my own business, when a voice cuts through my daydreaming.

‘You’re car’s a little dirty, isn’t it?

The voice has come from the guy filling up next to me.  He’s a young guy; I’d say very early twenties.  He’s dressed in ripped jeans, boots and a flannelette shirt, and is leaning against his ‘hotted up’ Commodore (which is about three inches from bottoming out) whilst filling up.

And, he doesn’t look like the brightest light globe in the box, either.

Yes; my car is filthy.  So filthy in fact, that I can’t see the back licence plate, and the entire bottom of the car, including the wheels, is brown.  Somewhere under the layers of mud, is blue paintwork.

‘You reckon?’ I said sarcastically.

‘Yeah.’ He nodded slowly, completely in awe of my putrid car, and completely ignorant to my sarcasm.  ‘Do you live on a dirt road?’

‘No mate.  Not at all.’ I said casually.

He looked shocked at this.  ‘Then.. why’s your car so dirty?’

‘Cos I take this baby off road, my friend.’

‘Off road?’ he gasped in shock.  ‘You take that little thing off road?’  The guy filling up in front of flannelette-boy looked up then.

‘Hell yeah!’ I smiled, removing the nozzle from the car.  ‘You’ve seen those rally’s on tv, haven’t you?’  He nods enthusiastically.  ‘What kind of cars do they drive on there?’

‘Fucken little cars like that!’ he said, pointing at the car.  ‘They drive hatchbacks!’

‘Yeah man!’ I smiled, screwing up the fuel cap.  ‘I take this baby off road, that’s why she’s so putrid mate.’

‘Wow…. You’re kidding?’

‘Nope.’ I think I did well keeping a straight face at this point.  ‘Don’t be deceived by these little cars, mate.  They’re fucken weapons.’

The other guy watching was now doing his best not to burst out laughing as he looked from me, to flannelette boy, and back again.

‘Wow… that’s fucken awesome…I can’t believe it…’

‘Neither can I, champ.  Neither can I.’ I smiled, winking at the other dude as I headed into the shop to pay for my fuel.

I wonder if that kid’s gone home and told his mates that he’s upgrading the Commodore to an i30?  Bet that went down well with his rev-head mates.

Peace out.