Hey, Let Ringling Brothers Know I Found The Missing Clown Car.

This past week my vehicle, a large SUV, needed to have some work done. Like a good little consumer I took it to the dealership where I bought it for an oil change and left with a service appointment.

Before you point any fingers, they were running a special 21% off any work over $100 and because I bought the vehicle there they throw in a free loaner.

It is important to remember that I’m not exactly petite. Some might use a description like “Lumbering Oaf” to describe me. At Six feet tall, 350 pounds I’m not exactly “economy sized” by anyone’s lights.

As I waited to get my loaner car I asked for the biggest one they had. The clerk, clearly a man with a sense of humor, pointed to a silver car out in the drive area. It was the exact same size as the other two escapees from Ringling Brothers. All that was missing was a baker’s dozen clowns to occupy the vehicle.

Clown Car

I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not, but it became painfully obvious that he was dead serious. It took a few tries to get in past the opening. I was reminded of my days on submarines. I would have been called a “hatch plug” because I filled the hatch and you could submerge the ship with that tight a fit in the opening. My elderly, recently operated on, knees didn’t like it much either. I had the wheel all the way up, the seat all the way back, and I still had to twist and turn to get in.

Once inside it wasn’t much better. My head touched the ceiling. No, make that: My head was two inches higher than the roof when I sat up straight. It meant I would be driving hunched down. I couldn’t straighten my legs or arms, and I was more snugly inserted into the driver’s seat than Andre The Giant in the cockpit of a Kaiten.

As I drove away the service manager ran out to the car. When I stopped and powered the window down he stood a few feet back and tossed an aerosol can through the open window. “Take this, it will make it easier to get in next time.” It was a can of “Pam.”

My transit home was frightening. I couldn’t see much out of the windows. It was rather like driving a Panzer II and only having the driver’s slit to peer through – small windows, bad angles, and low view point. I figured my outlook was skewed until I pulled in to my garage and had to look up to see the top of my lawnmower. Not kidding, it sat lower than the handle on the Lawn-boy. And, amazingly enough, it had the same engine.

After extricating myself from the soda can I creaked inside the house and went to bed.

That night I left a bit early for work so that I could grab something to eat. My choice was reduced to places that had drive-through service, because I knew I’d never get out and back in without the can of Pam. I’d left it on the counter.

Happily I survived the brush with claustrophobia. Upon returning the car to the dealership the next morning I was relieved to see Bobo and his crew ready to take it back and give me my beloved red beast. It did inform my next purchase in the automotive world: anything but that little clown car.

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Hey, Let Ringling Brothers Know I Found The Missing Clown Car. — 5 Comments

  1. There is a message from God here.. He is speaking and telling you that you will feel better if you take off 150 pounds! You will feel better, be healthier, need less surgeries in the future, and safer in smaller vehicles. God spoke. Listen!

  2. Joe, you didn’t get any movies of the entry and exit? HA! My congratulations that you survived the squeeze . . .