In a previous story, “A Man Called Doc,” I wrote about my dream car, the Chevrolet Camaro. Here is another memory of that car.
My husband and I were together for about five years when he asked what I thought about the Camaro at the car dealership in the center of town. Camaro, what Camaro? He told me it was right in the front lineup of cars and had been there for a good two weeks! Knowing that this was my dream car, he couldn’t believe that I had been driving by it twice a day and had not seen it.
He then wanted to take me right then to show me. The town center is literally only five minutes away, so I got in his truck, and away we went. I couldn’t believe we were going to take a look at a car that I had no way of buying. But my husband is the kind of guy who loves to see me excited about things. He wanted to see my reaction, and I wanted to see this car!
Being a summer evening, the sun was still shining brightly when we arrived. The car dealer was closed for the evening, which was fine with me. When I saw the car at one end of the lineup, I was as surprised as my husband was that I had never seen this car. Not only was it a Camaro, but it was my favorite color of green, and it was a convertible! Wow! What a car. We got out of the truck and went to take a look at it. Of course, when I got to the price sticker, I was not surprised that it was nowhere near what I could afford. $15,000.00! I started to walk away, and my husband called me back to show me some of the features we could see through the windows. He asked me what was wrong. I told him nothing was wrong. We had seen the car, and that was nice.
Of course, he could see my mood had drastically changed. He did not know why. I had never told him about the guy Doc who had given me a sales pitch about loaning me the money to buy a Camaro and then never came through. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him now. But he needed to know why it almost hurt to look at this pristine car of my dreams.
I did not tell him that day. I am so glad I didn’t. The following day while getting ready for work, my husband asked me to stop at the dealership on my way home and ask them to figure out what the payments would be with a $2,000.00 down payment. I laughed and asked if he was buying the car; why didn’t he ask? His answer was seriously not what I was expecting. He told me he wanted me to buy the car, and this way, he thought the payments should be affordable for me. My husband was always buying me little things, and taking me to woodworking shows, and all in all, spoiling the heck out of me. But, put that much down on a car? I was speechless. I tried to tell him no thank you, but he was not listening.
I went to the dealership, spoke with a salesperson, and found that the payments were reasonable. I also found out that the year of the car was 1997. That made it an anniversary edition. It also had a high-performance engine in it. The salesman gave me the keys and told me to get in and start it up.
The only way I could describe the sound of this car when I started it was to say it roared. The salesman told me to go ahead and take it for a test drive. I couldn’t do it. He asked if I was afraid to drive the car. I told him no, I was worried something or someone would hit the car! He smiled and realized just how much I loved and wanted this car.
Before I knew it, I was signing the papers. On a hot and sunny day, I drove out of that parking lot with the top down in my “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would ever own” Camaro!
To say I was in euphoria would not be an exaggeration. Every time I walked out the door, I couldn’t help but stop, if only for a few seconds and just admire this car.
I was just entering the fabulous world of wood about this same period. I had the three main woodworking bench tools I needed to explore this soon-to-be addictive craft. I had a scroll saw a bench sander with a round disc on the side, and a drill press.
The main ingredient to all of this was, of course, wood. Not really knowing what kind of scrolling I would be getting involved in, I did not start purchasing wood, just gathered bits and pieces to practice with.
Also, at this time, I was working at the local retail plumbing and hardware supply store. One day towards the end of the day, a couple of the guys and I were out in the warehouse cleaning off pallets by rearranging the merchandise. One particular pallet caught my attention the second it was free of merchandise. The wood looked like it had just been cut from the tree it originated from. Most pallets, of course, are made with cheap and unappealing wood scraps. But this pallet was made with cherry wood! There were no nicks, holes, or cracks in any of the boards. All the panels were consistent in length and thickness. It was perfect for using as practice pieces.
I walked out of the warehouse around to the side of the building. My eyes were drawn to my beautiful green convertible top…wait! My convertible top, yes! Of course, I could put the top down, and the pallet could rest on the back seat. My only problem was how was I going to get this home?
I hurried over to where the guys were finishing up and, with great excitement, told them of my plan and asked if they would help me get the pallet into the car. It took a few seconds to realize they were both staring at me like I was from another planet or something. I have no idea why they are just staring at me with their jaws hanging open. I asked them what the problem was. One of them said to the other, “she is serious!” Again, I wondered what the problem was. Finally, one of them said: “A.M. (that was the nickname they had given me), you have a high-performance car with real leather seats, why would you put something like this pallet into it? It could really damage the leather. Not to mention you will be the laughing stock of the whole town.” I explained with as much patience as I could muster that I knew enough to put something on the seat before placing the pallet in. As far as what the town thought of me, well, to put it into milder language than I used initially, I didn’t give a rat’s butt what they thought.
I thanked them for their unasked opinions and then went about getting ready to put the pallet into the car myself. With a very audible sigh, the taller of the two lifted the pallet and gently placed it into the back seat, which I had already put a rather large tarp across the seats.
This particular day the town was having an Antique Car Show on the town green. The route I took on the way home went right past this green. While I loved my car, I could not bring myself to think of it as anything other than that, a car. I had no problems with what I looked like while driving through the town center. My mind was already on what I would do with this gorgeous wood when I took the pallet apart.
I arrived home to see my husband was already home. As I got out of the car, I could hear him say with obvious disdain, “Please don’t tell me you just drove through the center of town with a pallet hanging out of your car!” I looked around and didn’t see him right away. Where the heck was he? Then I saw him sitting on the ground behind his boat, working on the transom. I was so excited about this beautiful wood, I almost skipped over to where he was. I said, “Yeah, I did! Look at this wood; it is beautiful! I am going to use it to practice scroll sawing with it.” I don’t think he heard a word I said. His reply was just a continuation of his last statement; “Every person in town knows where that car lives! What were you thinking?” My defense mechanisms kicked in, and I answered that I was thinking of how to get this wood home. I knew you would never allow me to use your pickup truck; I might scratch it. As far as the car, it is a work machine. I needed to get this pallet home, and it was the only way to do it. Before going back behind the boat, his only reply was to mumble that if I thought he was going to take that pallet apart, I better think again.
I told him I had no intention of asking him for anything. I went into the house for my claw-foot hammer and proceeded to take the pallet apart. Who would have ever thought that a total of 10 boards would take me an hour and forty-five minutes to take apart?
My husband apologized later after seeing that I had no intention of pulling the helpless woman act and was taking full responsibility for taking the pallet apart.
Because of the apology, I was able to tell him what I discovered in the almost two hours it took to take that pallet apart. He would never have to worry about me bringing home another pallet! We both had a good laugh over that. Then I told him that I would treat my car with more respect from that day forward and not make a spectacle of it and me again. Well, at least without telling him first so he could hide.
