Cars are costume. Cars are the way we tell friends and strangers what to think of us. Some folks don’t want to be seen in sensible shoes. So they shun mini- vans. Others drive American to make a patriotic statement. Two- seaters send a jaunty message. Or maybe you were born to be bad. Jack your pickup so high you can look into second-story windows. Or drop your Civic lower than the crotch of your dungarees. I haven’t even touched the topic of Bimmers and Benzes. Still other folks see our highways as a morality play. “What would Jesus drive?” And as religious extremists everywhere thinks, anyone who disagrees is a sinner. Repent for your SUV or perish!
When we stand before the Almighty on judgment day, I doubt He will be checking our lives against the EPA Gas Mileage Guide. Personally, I wouldn’t buy a daily driver that gets less than 25 mpg (the conservationist instinct runs deep in farm boys, even fallen-away ones). But I wouldn’t argue, either, that the oil supply is precarious. Give it the common-sense test:
The world’s oil experts know better than the rest of us how much petroleum the planet has secreted away. They make their livings finding and marketing oil. And they’re willing to sell all we want—bring your tanker—for less than, the price of Coca-Cola. The Mrs. Grundy’s may feel that oil is more precious, but let’s not confuse guilt feelings with hard data. Even if the petro pumps were sucking air, I’d still believe in a driver’s right to choose.
