We were driving back after a long, drawn out job and coasting past the beach off on the left with the windows down and latin jazz blaring from my car speakers. I remarked that Ibrahim Ferrer had past away and I get a blank response. My car weaved past traffic and he sighed, saying how this was the way life should be. A car, a long empty stretch by the beach, winds from nowhere and good music.
And don’t forget the sun, I thought.
“It’s the quality of life,” I said, tapping the wheel, wondering about the coming holiday on Thursday.
“Not just the quality of life, it’s the money,” Morgan said. “Can you imagine what you’d be doing if you had money? I mean, there are other problems in life that are just as big, but to have money and not have to worry about so many things–”
“Yeah, money, but the only way you’re gonna get enough to satisfy you is to rob a bank. I’ll be your sidekick, let’s do it,” I quipped, laughing. We’ve been discussing bank robbery since we realized how much it would take to start up a business of our own. I was at Public Bank at Jalan Wong Ah Fook not a week past and was scoping out the security system because, like, it’s the sort of thing we do in our line of work. Nothing, security cameras, yes, motion detectors: none. Mag strip detectors at entrances: none. Guards with big guns: yes, but they were packing shotguns and they were old men.
“Yeah, we could rob a bank,” I said again, laughing.
“Oh yah, we rob a bank, spend the rest of our lives on the run and with lots of cash. It’s kinda pathetic,” he said, giggling.
“Well, it’s something to do..” I said.
“Look at that,” he said, pointing out to our right. I turned to look, my car now stationary and stuck in a drawn out traffic jam. A beemer sauntered past, a 5-series black beauty with some sort of bodykit, the kind that would immediately bring to mind chow ah bengs with too much money.
“Bastards,” I muttered.
“What would you do to get a car like that?” he asked
“You mean, what would you have to do to drive a car like that? And who wants a beemer? It’s a yuppie car. It’s yuppie-fied. It’s for the nouveau riche with no taste or class,” I said.
“And you wouldn’t want one if you were given one, of course.”
“No, I’d take it and sell it,” I laughed, “and then get myself a proper non-depreciating asset.”
“Bloody idiot,” he smirked.
“But I wouldn’t buy a car like that,” I continued.
“And who could? Would you pay half a fucking million for a car?” he said, as he peered at the canopies that had lined up ahead of us, shiny in the evening glare.
Who would? I wasn’t a car enthusiast by any stretch of the imagination. I wanted to switch cars, but the need was strongest about a year ago when I was convinced I could get a good, affordable deal. I wouldn’t say Morgan badgered me into thinking about getting a new car, or even a new 2nd hand ride, but I was made to see the deficiencies of my current set of wheels — deficiencies that become glaring when attempting a 60 degree turn at 90km/h. Body roll, squeeling tires and a dangerous sense of being on the edge of control. That’s good enough reason to get something lower to the ground, more stable and the potential after-market parts can provide.
But you know how things are like in Malaysia with all things auto related. New cars are overpriced, old cars are beat up and you wouldn’t want to be caught holding on to an asset that won’t be worth much when you wanna sell it. That and recent measures to push up prices for cars that aren’t Protons have confirmed, for me, the government’s direction: starve out the competition, bully the populace into buying local makes for the sake of — and get this — nationalism and national pride (eh?!).
About a year ago when I was seriously car-hunting, I used to look forward to the announcements on the government’s stance with regards to the automotive industry; now, I look forward to Proton’s failure and a well-placed bomb during full parliamentary sessions. I know neither will happen, but I can still live in hope, can’t I?
“Stick to something else,” Morgan said, after hearing me out.
“Funny that coming from you,” I laughed, after reviewing exactly how much he had spent on his car.
“No, seriously. Things aren’t going to change, so why run up against the wall?” he said.
I thought about that last night, while flipping through the August 2005 edition of Autocar magazine. Looking at the prices listed convinced me that such magazines were catering more and more to people who could afford cars that cost as much as houses (or more). “0-100-0″ car tests, new car announcements with exorbitant price tags; fuck all of that. I’ll stick to die-cast matchbox cars from now on.
