Scratched By The Cat

By Tony Kornheiser

Sunday, September 21, 1997; Page F01
The Washington Post 

I recently bought a new car. I arrived at work the next day
puffed with pride, because I finally owned a vehicle of class
and dignity, a car that complements my personality. 

One of the first people I ran into was my boss's boss's boss, a
man of immense power and prestige, renowned for his
judgment. I told him what I had purchased. He regarded me
with a curious look, a look I had not seen before. I took it to
be respect. 

Then he started to laugh. 

"What a dope," he said. 

See, I bought a Cadillac. 

When you are hurting in your soul, you seek solace from
friends. I went to my friend Gino and explained what had
happened with The B-B-Boss. 

"You bought a Cadillac?" he said.

Uh, right.

"You're a jerk. I can understand someone of your age, pushing
50, buying a Jaguar or a Lamborghini or even a lovingly
restored 1972 powder-blue Karmann Ghia. But a Cadillac?
What can you possibly say in defense of a Cadillac -- that it's
the top of the line of General Motors? That's like ordering the
best bottle of Yoo-Hoo money can buy."

My car is the Catera, the new pint-size Caddy. I love it.
Unfortunately, owning a Catera means you are stigmatized by
driving a Cadillac without the attendant advantage of having a
car so large and swinish it says to the world: "Hey, world, bite
me, okay?" 

That's what Cadillacs used to be like. My friend Mit has an old
Cadillac, a Fudgsicle-brown 1976 Eldorado drop top. My
Catera can fit comfortably in his trunk, which, by the way, has
a power device that closes it automatically, on the assumption
that the average 1976 Eldorado owner no longer possesses the
upper-body strength to slam it shut, what with his walker and
all. 

Mit's car is 18 1/2 feet long, 7 feet wide and weighs just under
three tons. I asked him, "Are you gonna drive it, or christen it?"

Mit says: "It came with an eight-track tape player. So if you've
got any Mantovani tapes . . ."

It's got a 500-cubic-inch V-8 engine and a 30-gallon tank,
which gives Mit the opportunity to have the following
conversation with a gas station attendant:

"Fill 'er up, sir?"

"Nah, just stop at $40."

Unfortunately, the car gets six miles a gallon. There is no
vehicle anywhere that gets worse gas mileage than Mit's
Cadillac. Mir is more economical. 

("I bought it on Earth Day," Mit said. "Everybody celebrates
his own way.")

Mit's Caddy cuts a wide swath. "It uses a lot of lane, if you
know what I mean," he said. "You pull behind a Miata -- all
they see in their rearview mirror is grille. They get reeeeall
peppy when the light turns green."

That was the heyday of the Cadillac, of course. 1976. What
depresses me about my new car is a recent article I read about
how Cateras aren't selling. Worse, the people they are selling
to are ancient.

Half of Catera's owners are at least 65!

It must be the official pace car of Leisure World.

I had the same feeling a couple of years ago when I bought a
Buick . . . 

Of course! I remember now. You bought a Buick. You have a
Buick and a Cadillac now. You, and Bob Dole, right? Ladies
and gentlemen, there is no reason to continue with this column.
The man has a Buick and a Cadillac. That is ludicrous. Let us
just buy him a pair of white shoes and a white belt, send him on
a cruise and be done with him.

. . . and every time I'd see another Buick on the road it was
being driven by someone whose head didn't reach above the
steering wheel. The people who bought Buicks were so old
that one of the options on my LeSabre was a dashboard
denture holder.

When people hear that I have a Cadillac, they naturally assume
it is filled with ridiculous power options. This is a slander of me and my car. 
Sure, it has power steering and power brakes and
power door locks and power windows and a power sun roof
and power seat controls and power back-rest positioning
devices and power mirrors. But it's not like it has electrically
heated seats for the wintertime warming of one's big soft
American behind. 

But Tony, it DOES have tush warmers. 

Shhhhh. 

They marketed the car as "the Caddy that zigs." But when you
look at who's buying it, it's more like the Caddy that shuffles
and kvetches. I may be the youngest person in America to buy
a Catera.

Here's a true story: The other day I went through the carwash,
and the guy in front of me looked at my car admiringly and
said, "That's a Catera, right?"

He was my age, and he was driving a Mercedes C220, which
goes for about the same price as the Catera.

"I'm thinking of buying a Catera," he said. 

"You'll like it," I told him.

"Oh, not for me," he said. "For my father." 

© Copyright 1997 The Washington Post Company

The Tony Kornheiser Unofficial Home Page
Anyelet's Demesne
Geocities