A MAVERICK GOES TO WASHINGTON.
I remember when we were kids, most of us didn't buy cars. We waited patiently for our parents to buy themselves new cars. We took the hand-me-downs and drove them into the ground. I had my mom's old Ford Torino wagon. One friend drove his dad's old Granada, and another his dad's Chevette. We identified ourselves and each other by what we drove, even though what we drove was almost as random as DNA .... I had this one friend, his name was Marc. He was the only one of us guys to buy his own car. He drove a Ford Maverick. Marc's Maverick was basically held together by rust, and was a brown lemon. But he had bought it himself out of the newspaper and saw saw himself as a Maverick for going out on his own to get his wheels. He was totally proud of it and blind to the fact that it was a piece of shit.
Once I was going to DC to visit some friends. Marc said he wanted to go. "We can take the Maverick!" he offered. I didn't really want the company, but being cheap, how could I turn down a free ride. Anyway the Maverick died on the highway on the way down there. We had stopped to pee on the shoulder of the road. For some reason Marc had turned off the engine and it never started again. We got it towed and spent a hot sticky night sleeping in the parking lot of a gas station, somewhere in Southern New Jersey, waiting for the sad prognosis.
Marc had a bottle of Rye in the trunk of the Maverick, which had been cooked all day in the hot sun. We mix it with cold cans of Pepsi out of the soda machine, but the drinks never got cold. We drank them anyway, and spent most of the night puking behind a dumpster.
I never made it down to DC that weekend. I missed out on what probably was a hell of a weekend... I went on to live in a city were nobody really cares what car you drive.
Marc's next car was a Red Capri.
I don't know what this story has to do with anything, but after watching the debate last night and hearing Sarah Palen call herself and McCain a couple of Mavericks, over and over again, all I can say is God help us if McCain gets elected, and God help us even more if he does,
and never gets his old rusty-ass back to DC. He may be a Maverick, but he's as old as my father-in-law. She may be easier to look at than Dick Cheney, but she is no less scary.