Sitting along the Village stretch of University Avenue, the sights and sounds of spring tingled my senses this weekend.
The sun beat down on my face, leaving me with a reddish glow by day's end. The wind swept across my table at Scotty's Brewhouse bringing my nose the graces of wheat beer and fried snacks. I glanced across the patio to see sidewalks of prospective students, runners and casual strollers alike.
Feet away from the pedestrians, the sound of cars cruising University Avenue reflected off the fa+â-ºade of the restaurant. And as the noise bounced against my ear drums the undeniable sound of a Muncie spring hit me full on, in the form of a tool driving his oversized pick-up truck with more horsepower than his brain allows him to count to.
Oh, spring.
A Village rat, err resident, since my sophomore year, I'm accustomed to the sights and sounds of every season in Ball State University's "retail district." Summer is calm, but full of incoming students. Fall is a haven for drunkenness during tailgating season. The streets are clear but on weekends during our Hoosier winters. Yet spring - of all seasons - brings out the tools.
The big tools, I mean.
These are the men - locals from their appearances - who cruise the Village and campus streets showing off their life savings in the form of a vehicle violating emissions standards in any state that has them. The pick-up trucks are jacked up on tall suspensions, utilize an ungodly number of exhaust systems and emit noises that make Marsh Street house party look civilized.
They slow for the traffic signals, specifically at University and Martin avenues, wait for the green and then gun it off the line in hopes of attracting attention from passers-by.
Well you get it, fools. But it's not getting you laid any faster. Of the countless times I've witnessed this scenario, I've yet to hear a woman drop her jaw and go, "Wow, look at that truck, girls - I'd love to do him."
No, usually the women are in line with the men whose conversation was disrupted by Truckzilla, causing them all to shout words my editor won't allow me to repeat here.
These responses are also applicable when sports cars, motorcycles and crotch rockets are in the vicinity.
I understand the crotch rocket is a great way to get laid and impress (some) ladies. Women - way to continue to dementia that is materialism. More power to you all.
The exception to these rules, of course: classic cars. These owners, on the whole, are generally more respectful of their surroundings and their possessions.
If you're confused, a 1990 Cadillac is not a classic car. No, not even if it's including a sound system that could power Verizon Wireless Music Center. Please, for the love of all things R&B, grab a tool kit and retighten the screws on your six by nines.
Paint jobs and sound systems aside, there's one other truck add-on that seems to be popular in these parts.
Balls.
The testical trailer hitch. Yes, that "ball sack" looking thing hitch in place of anything remotely practical, providing no greater punch line than, "What are you compensating for, dude?" In the eye of the beholder, its presence says, "I'm a hard ass." To everyone else, the beholder looks like a damned fool.
Pick-up trucks have a practical purpose, but us Midwestern folk apparently desire a fancier vehicle for transporting oversized goods. This is assuming anyone is using these trucks to transport things period. Cars in general serve a purpose, but the accessorizing allows us to be individuals. The individualism is rooted not in independence, but in class.
Cars continue to be status symbols for our society, despite our increasing interest in using alternative fuel systems. As money tightens under higher fuel costs, I eagerly await the day when we award conscious car decisions, not ignorant ones.
By then, something else will power our materialistic caste system. If the iPhone is any indication, that determining criterion could be as close as the mobile device in our pockets.
Try putting a pair of balls on that.
Write to Dave at < a href="mailto:heydave@bewilderedsociety.com">heydave@bewilderedsociety.com
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