When I was in High School my dad had a sweet car. He had a 1998 Chevy Camaro. It was cayenne red and so very sexy!
This isn’t my dad’s car, just one I found online. I don’t have any pictures of it readily available. But it sorta looked like this.
I felt so cool driving this car. There was nothing I loved more than picking up my friends and cruising Palm Canyon Drive. Yeah, cause we were wicked cool!
The problem, I was 16 and a brand new driver. I honestly don’t know why my dad let me drive this car. If you’ve ever driven a Camaro you’ll know, this car was a frickin boat and probably not ideal for someone who hasn’t been driving long. Needless to say I got into a little trouble with this car.
I scratched it pretty badly once on a friends mailbox. Luckily his step-dad had some buffer stuff that rubbed it right out. Dad didn’t even notice until he was washing and waxing the car a couple weeks later. He called me out the garage and asked where the little ding had come from. I honestly couldn’t remember for a moment. But once I did I came clean. I had a hard time lying to my parents when they asked me an outright question. Also they’ll tell you I’m not a very good liar.
You’ve heard about the time I buried the Camaro up to its axles. And then there was the time I made it fly.
My friends James & Mike were hanging out at my house one evening. We decided we were bored with watching TV in my room and decided to go play some pool at a super classy establishment called Sharky’s.
We got the go ahead from the folks, established a curfew, and piled into the Camaro. We got to the intersection of 30th & Date Palm. You have to understand something about drainage in the desert, it doesn’t happen… at all. Water just sits around on the road until it gets so hot it evaporates. 30th & Date Palm was one of the worst places for these gigantic slippery puddles.
Of course that night there was one such puddle. I attempted to make a right turn, quickly through this puddle. The back wheels must have slipped because the next thing I knew I’m over correcting and sending the Camaro sailing over the median divider into the oncoming traffic lanes.
Lucky for me there was no oncoming traffic and I ended up facing the correct direction to pull over. We all jumped out of the car. I was, of course, freaking out, hyperventilating and in a general state of complete panic. James managed to calm me down and we tried to assess the situation. We had a couple hours til curfew so in our infinite teenage wisdom we convinced ourselves that we could get the car fixed and my dad would never have to know.
Mike said he had $400 saved. Again, we convinced ourselves that would cover a tow and repairs. What we hadn’t thought of was damage we couldn’t see and the fact that it was after 6pm in the middle of the desert.
In the end I broke down and called my dad. I didn’t tell him that I’d fishtailed in a puddle because that would make me a bad driver. I thought if I told him the truth I’d never be allowed to drive again, so I told him I swerved to miss a dog. The three of us established this story before we even called him, but I don’t think he believed me. Even if I had told the truth I don’t think it would have mattered. He was so angry when he arrived.
I don’t remember what he said, or did. I do remember thinking that he was blind with rage and I would never be allowed to leave the house again.
In the end I was allowed to leave the house. I did have to use my allowance to pay off the repair bills. The bills ended up being well over $1,000. I had cracked and ruined forever three axles. That’s my favorite part of the whole story; that James, Mike and I thought $400 would cover the damages and that my dad would never know.