A Sexy European with Four on the Floor - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli
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A Sexy European with Four on the Floor - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli
The ad said, “The success car of the decade. A sexy European. Bucket seats, styled wheels, synchronized transmission.” You bet I fell, and there was more; a four-speed standard floor shift cozied right next to that bucket baby. When I saw the leather seats, I was done, hooked, a buyer falling precipitously. I pulled the trigger. The Capri with all its sexiness was mine.
Off to the showroom, I went. There it sat, gleaming under its theatrical spotlights. It was toasty brown, starry, and smooth to the touch, and though I would rather have had red, I was not prepared to wait. It had a long bonnet, Mustang-like styling, and chrome wheel trims. They shone like stars also. I peeked in to see the shift, its shiny knob a beacon. I opened the door and sat on the smooth leather. It didn’t take much time for the salesman to make the sale. “It’ll be ready in a week.”
GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLASTThe week’s wait aroused my excitement even more. On the night before pickup, I stirred as I thought of the four speeds and my hand on the knob that controlled the Capri’s raw power.
I grabbed the keys, raced to the car, jumped in, slid softly into the perfectly molded seat, and wrested my new brown leather driving gloves from the inside pocket of my blue blazer. Ah, the smell of leather everywhere. I slipped them on and locked my fingers in. I snapped the wrist buttons, squeezed the wheel, then dropped my right to the awaiting shiny knob.
It had been a while since I drove a shift car, but I was confident because I had a great teacher, Dad. But Dad’s shift was next to the steering wheel. “It’s like riding a horse. Ya nevah forget.” Hmmm . . . the last time I rode was a brown pony at Roger Williams Park, and he threw me.
I turned the key. The engine purred. I was ready. I needed to back the car that was sitting close to the showroom window. I looked at the schematic next to the shift. The rear speed was down and to the right.
There was another speed that was down and to the right. Fourth. Clutch in. I shifted down to the right and turned to look behind. I was in fourth, the last forward speed. I let the clutch out, tapped the gas pedal and bang, boom, rumble, oops. I went forward and hit the showroom window which wavered, oh so many times, but did not crash.
Three salesmen were in the showroom. When I hit, all I heard was a chorus of, “Get that %#%**&&#@ guy outta that car.” One of them came out. The rest is embarrassing history. But . . . I had my sexy European.