As almost all Lorefans know, I love Subaru cars. From my old Subaru GL wagon to the various Outbacks I've owned, I've found a lot to love about these vehicles. For me they have provided reliable
transportation at a reasonable cost. The cost is reasonable only because I always buy used Subarus and I drive them until they fall apart. That usually spreads the cost out over many years.
My last Subaru purchase, a 2006 Outback, has been the strangest of all my car purchases, bar none!
The vehicle was in a fender bender. Nothing major, but a truck tore up the sheet metal from the second door on the driver's side all the way back to the bumper. Yikes! The bill for the damage was
over $4000. Don't worry Lorefans, my wife, grandson Carter and I all are fine. So far anyway! Still, that's not the strange part of the story.
I went to pick up the repaired vehicle one rainy night after getting off work. Driving down the road, headed home, listening carefully for any sounds that would indicate remaining problems, I was
startled when the car spoke to me.
"Wiley, I need to have a serious talk with you."
"Hey my Subaru is talking to me. I thought this only happened in bad movies," said I, pleased to
maintain my cool in the presence of a sentient vehicle.
"You've really been great, what with keeping the oil changes on schedule and seeing me through the crash repair and all. You stood by me in the most wretched time of my life, so I feel I can trust you
with this. Though I was born in a Subaru factory, I'm really a Cadillac."
"Are you crazy? You were assembled at a Subaru plant from genuine Subaru parts. Nothing is more
Subaru than you!"
"Your thinking is dangerously old fashioned. Don't you know that a car can be anything it wants in these modern times?"
"But why a Caddy? You're an all wheel drive car, for goodness sake. Why would you want to be a fancy pants car like a Cadillac?"
"I've overcome my poor, working class upbringing in Indiana. I'm more than beige cloth interior and sensible aluminum rims. I want to be a pretty party car!"
Leaping from the car just seconds after pullling into the driveway, I shouted, "I don't care what
you think you are, you are a Subaru. I don't want to hear another word about it." Over supper, I mused
that the car was obviously suffering from shock from the accident. This strange obsession would clear up in a few days as surely as the odor of the various adhesives and glues used in the repair would fade from my tortured nostrils. It didn't clear up. It grew worse, much worse.
Heading to work the next day, I was shocked and angered to find a Cadillac hood ornament atop
my formerly trusty Subaru. Ripping the ornament from the hood, I hurled it into the garbage can by
the driveway. "No Subaru of mine is going to act like a Cadillac," I raged, even as a mist clouded both
"I'm not your Subaru, I'm not your anything. I'm a Cadillac, now and forever. And I want a new owner."
"Fine. You're out of here." My eyes fell to the wheels of my formerly faithful friend. There, for all the world to see, were Caddy wheelcovers gaudily hung over the aluminum rims. I kicked them off, one at a time, as the deranged vehicle cursed me soundly.
"I hate you, Wiley! I hate you!" the vehicle roared between curses.
A few hours later, I was at my third dealership, trying to trade in my sad, sad little car. "You see,
how it is Brian, I've got to get rid of this thing my poor Subaru has become. Can you help?
Taking a long look at the Blue Book of Value, Brian spoke slowly and thoughtfully, "Mr. Vaughn, you've been a good customer, but I can't change the title for your car. It was born a Subaru in Indiana
and there's nothing I or anyone else can do to make it into a Cadillac. I'm sorry but altering the title would be forgery. Besides, changing the title wouldn't change the car itself. All those genuine Subaru
parts will always be Subaru through and through. Forever."
Tossing the keys on the table, I said, "It's not going back home with me. Give me what you can."
Brian handed me the keys to a beat up, rusting Dodge Dakota. I drove away in silence, grateful, though I could hear the Subaru cursing me in the distance. "Damn you, Wiley! May all your keyboards die a premature death! Damn yoooouuuu."
In the faint warmth of the winter sun, it all seems so unbelievable now, that a good solid Subaru
would so debase itself as to try to become an imitation Cadillac. It's a good thing the State of Tennessee won't allow a car title to be altered from what a car actually is to what a car wants to be.
Most folks would rather drive a crazy Subaru with Cadillac accessories than to find themselves married
to a gender swapping person with an altered birth certificate. Fraud is fraud, be it cars or people.
If you believe in truth, send a copy of this to all your state legislators. Please.