'83 BMW 633csi - a day in the life of its owner

[Jim B.]

Steve was a legend in his own mind.

He would sit in the parked 633 and relive the most glorious time of his life, the early 80s. Booze. Coke. Women. Darth Vader is Luke’s father. Epic times, he thought. Steve had worked for Micheal Milken whose junk bonds made near instant millionaires of he and others employed at Drexel Burnham Lambert. Milken enabled the so called “Wall Street raiders” to do hostile takeovers of major corporations and downsize the employees, Steve had hobnobbed with some of the most powerful people in the industry… but that was so long ago. He turned the key and the car turned over but wouldn’t start. Steve hit the key a few more times and frustrated just sat back in the drivers seat, kicked in the clutch and played with the shifter as his drew into another daze.

“Steve, where have ya been?” the tuxedo-ed Larry asked as Steve stumbled forward toward him.
“I eh, got lost in the coatroom” he replied as he turned around and made a gun with his hand pointing at a disheveled cocktail waitress. Larry slapped Steve on the back and pulled him toward the stage.
“You old dog, come on Milken’s going to give his speech” Larry said as the two walked toward the stage.
“You know I finally fulfilled one of my dreams Lar” Steve said similing.
“The coatroom?” Larry asked.
“Okay, two dreams” he gushed.
“Seriously what did you do?”.
“After I paid off Mom’s little house, I had a little left over so I bought the Beemer of my dreams. Six series with a manual, 180 fricking horsepower Lar!”.
“Wow” Larry said impressed. “What about the Cadillac?”
“The Seville? That piece of s*** will just be my commuter now” Steve replied. The lights dimmed and Larry hushed him as their hero and god walked out on the stage. Milken began to speak and Steve drifted into his own world. The annual high yield bond conference in Las Vegas felt like a dream to Steve. He grew up poor in the Midwest, his father was killed on the job at the Packard plant in Detroit and Mom brought the little Steve back to Nebraska to live with her parents when he was five. Mom had always been there for him and now he was able to return the favor. He thought he was invincible, just as he believed junk bonds were as well, invincible until the cancer came a year later.

Steve woke up in the Beemer and hit the key again to no avail. The radio worked, the power windows worked, must not be getting spark he thought. Steve opened the door and got out of the car. The little Beemer looked tired and worn as the bald Steve felt, but much like Steve it had been a little trooper. He beat the cancer, he conquered it. Sure Mom had to take care of him during his convalescence but Steve won. During his prolonged absence the junk bond game changed so much. Eventually even the SEC was knocking on his door. When Drexel went under Steve didn’t apply for another license, after all Mom always blamed the job for his cancer. He took out a cell phone and dialed his mechanic.

“Hello” Steve said into his Nokia.
“Steve, is this about the Beemer again?” the voice said
“Yes, it won’t turn over in the garage”
“Steve I’ve known you since we were kids and I know how you think, but I think its time to let it go”
“Jimmy just come get it” Steve said annoyed. Jimmy sighed and agreed.

Steve walked past the old keyring and grabbed the valet key for the Beemer, and tossed it into the open driver side window onto the seat. He clicked the 80s grade garage door button to open the garage door, and shut the door to the house behind him. He stood at the mantle ans stared at Mom’s urn. His cell phone rang.

“Hello, here already Jimmy?”
“Hello this is Doctor Stoller’s office for Steve Guynan”
“This is he”
“Mr. Guynan please hold for Doctor Stoller he wants to discuss the results of your biopsy”


Posted by "28-Cars-Later"

in www. thetruthaboutcars.com 11/20/2013