My car and I share a very special bond. It is reminiscent of the relationship between David Hasselhoff and Knight Rider, except my automobile doesn’t talk. My black Ford Escort acted as my vessel to high school, work and Snakes on a Plane, and also served as the perfect place where I could vent about each one. I ate a large chunk of my meals in my car. I refused to sing in the shower, saving my renditions of “Take Me Out” only for the inside of my Ford. Some people own dogs – I have a little automobile with a Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim antenna topper.
My auto-bond made me hesitant to drive my car from Los Angeles to Evanston for my junior year of college. Having wheels instantly makes one a million times cooler to friends, bested only by having a fake I.D., being 21 or existing as a hot girl. But owning a car at Northwestern isn’t all high-fives and hugs, as myriad forces ranging from the city of Evanston to fellow college kids often make Big Wheeling seem like a better alternative to driving, and I didn’t want to ruin my relationship with my car. Still, even with so many anti-vehicular forces at work, having a car on campus is worth it, even if it’s just because you can get away every once in a while.
The obvious obstacle to happy car ownership in Evanston is that owning an automobile in this town costs roughly the same as buying a stealth bomber. A Northwestern University parking permit, which grants access to any of NU’s often-filled parking lots, runs $462, no small sum since the school’s already bleeding me of all my money so I can have sweet, sweet soft-serve at the dining halls. Evanston permits cost significantly less (I got mine for about $70), but that’s still a few meals at Chipotle. Plus, Evanston police monitor the streets as if this uneventful suburb were World War II Germany, slapping a dreaded yellow envelope concealing a ticket on cars breaking any laws, which in Evanston range from “wrong permit zone” to “parked an inch too far from curb.”
Still, these challenges aren’t that bad – if you go to Northwestern and own a car, you probably use fifty dollar bills as napkins and paying a few hundred bucks won’t put too much of a dent in your summer yacht plans. And, militant as they may be, cops can’t ticket you unless you mess up. So just follow all laws and avoid doing anything that makes you stick out (parking too far from the curb, parking on the wrong side of the street, parking on top of a child who screams loudly).
The real reason owning a car at college can be a burden doesn’t stem from strangers, but rather friends. Part of my rationale for driving through the most undesirable parts of the country (New Mexico) would be the pal payoff; I hoped having a set of wheels would cancel out my coat-rack-worthy frame and inability to do a kegstand longer than five seconds. I’m vain, but I wanted more attention, and did I get it. But not how I expected.
When people find out you own a car at college, expect a steady stream of “take me here” requests. People at Northwestern (especially those living off-campus) constantly need to go places; the grocery store, Target, Steak n’ Shake. Nobody wants to waste the ten extra minutes walking or riding a bus, so they just call up the guy with the car. Sometimes, these requests seem sensible, like the one time a friend of mine asked for a ride to the chiropractor so she wouldn’t resemble Quasimoto in 20 years. Other trips seem unnecessary, and downright strange.
The El must really suck, as most folks plead for rides to downtown Chicago to drop things off or to eat at upper-end restaurants. I understand not wanting to pay for a taxi from the airport, but a trip to Midway at 11 at night? Or a trip to Wendy’s during the wee hours of the day? And, though often a joke, the floating urge for people to visit The Mars Cheese Castle hangs in the air like bad Swiss, and the guy with the car is the only one who can make it happen. People love people with cars, but in a Driving Ms. Daisy kind of way, not a Road Trip way.
Problems arise when people start treating you like a taxi service. The more you drive folks around, the more they start to expect you to cater for them. More and more calls come to your cellphone, with requests for quick runs to Best Buy or Pita Inn. Your pals start setting up weekly “dates” with you and your car, such as “Saturday Costco Adventure.” All the pressure is on you, the one with the car, to make it happen. They offer pity gas money, but the $5 they’ll give you would buy enough gasoline to fill a Dixie Cup.
Congratulations, you are now a chauffeur who wants to abandon your car on the nearest Metra tracks.
But the bond between you and your car ultimately makes everything worth it. College can be a super stressful place, especially when people need a ride to the airport at 7 a.m., and an automobile gives you the perfect escape. I go into Chicago frequently, capable of reaching Wrigley Field in about 15 minutes on a good day. With my wheels, I’ve visited new places, ranging from Libertyville to Detroit. Thanks to my car, I drove to Green Bay for the NFC Championship game, which ended up being my childhood hero Brett Favre’s last game ever. Instead of forcing myself to go to a Friday night party guaranteed to feature awkwardness with people I have rocky pasts with, I can see a midnight movie at the Music Box or just drive north for no reason. Not to mention, I can sleep in an extra 20 minutes a day because I can get to campus more quickly now. My car is a vessel and sanctuary.