“The Green Goblin,” among other less printable names, was what I dubbed my first and last car.

It was a 1996 Ford Taurus of a sickening teal hue that earned its fearsome name and dubious reputation in my neighborhood due to a perpetual belt issue that made it shriek like a banshee at the least provocation.

An unapologetic and accomplished old sinner, “The Goblin” devoured all monetary attempts to reform its evil ways, enjoying a good laugh on my dime when it would immediately revert back to its perpetual dysfunction after a repair was made.

While “The Goblin” was a consistent and determined invalid, it proved to be exasperatingly resilient.
I couldn’t drive at night due to headlights with the power of a mini-Maglite, I froze in the winter and sweltered in the summer — all to the sound of its deafening screams — “The Goblin” refused to blow its last bugle and die with some semblance of dignity.

It was my parents that finally put their foot down about “The Goblin.” Suspicious of the car’s intentions, my parents decided to draw first blood and help me trade in “The Goblin” for something a little more trustworthy.

Leaving the dealership with “The Goblin” in my new rearview mirror, I began a new chapter in my life as a driver and a person.

My choice in my new vehicle, while heavily influenced by my dad who had always wanted one, was one that appeared unconventional and unlike me at the time, but has been one that I’ve never regretted for a moment since.

Rather than trading one evil sedan for another, I took a risk and bought a 2002 white Ford Ranger with the Edge sport package. The moment I climbed up into the elevated cab, I realized what I had been missing out on all this time.

As I drove out of the lot I saw the concrete jungle in a whole new light.

I felt like, as a driver, I had finally gained the higher ground in the battle for dominance on the road — I could see everyone and everything, and the new perspective made me wonder how in the world I had been able to drive anywhere from the lowly position of a car.

Ever since, my love affair with my little white truck has increased, enamored with everything from its mud-flaps to feeling that I could snatch that sofa laying by the side of the road during “big item pickup week” if I really felt like it.

The thing I’ve enjoyed the most about my truck, however, is that throughout my time
owning it, it has been a source of curiosity and surprise to others who see me behind its wheel.

For those who know me well, the notion of me rampaging around in a truck doesn’t come as that irregular, but for strangers or acquaintances the picture doesn’t make much sense.

As a somewhat dainty thing, I am constantly amused by the looks I get out in public when driving around, and especially when I stop at gas stations.

Ladies, if you want men to notice you, then sometimes the best strategy is to do something unexpected.

When I’m on my way to a night out on the town, dressed to the nines in four-inch heels and a debutant dress, the looks I get when I invariably have to stop to fill up the truck are priceless.

I have also noticed that the number of “hollas,” whistles and the occasional war-whoop I receive from the opposite sex while driving around town have increased tenfold since buying my truck — a phenomenon experienced not just by myself, but by other ladies I know who realize the power of the truck.

Such outbursts of appreciation from the opposite sex are involuntary, as one gentleman in a parking lot about 100 feet away proved the other night as I was stepping out of my truck to meet a date. Having your date hear, from another man screaming at the top of his lungs, “Ain’t nothin’ better than a girl drivin’ a truck!” is certainly an affirming way to begin the evening.

Whether hauling a bed full of firewood for an autumn bonfire, helping a friend move, tailgating or just having a place to stretch out and watch the clouds go by, my truck in its utility as a helpmate and the eccentricity it adds to my persona have made it one of the best buying decisions I have ever made.

Had I chickened out and gone with what was safe and familiar, I would never have known the daily surprises and delights of going against what is expected.

Next time life offers a choice between what is average and predictable, and something that might allow to you discover a new perspective, allow yourself to consider trying
something new.

I’m so glad that I did.

By AMY FAULHABER
Editor
amfaulha@ius.edu