Dealership Reminiscing

The endless lights of a passing car dealership that can’t help but block out the sky. Photo courtesy of jon_zuckerman.

On a recent trip to some old stomping grounds in Louisville, Kentucky I had an epiphany. I was at the airport waiting for a friend to pick me up when a brand new, shiny green, Honda Civic pulled up. It was a nice car, as cars go—sunroof and all that jazz—but what really caught my attention was the temporary dealership license plate. In black and silver it read Sam Swope and I immediately became nostalgic. Why, I wasn’t sure, but I definitely knew I was back in Louisville for the name was as familiar to me as my friend’s who I’d be staying with.

I continued to wait and continued to ponder how crazy and all encompassing the car culture really is. I hadn’t need for convincing or anything, but to realize that a gigantic car dealership was as recognizable as Churchill Downs really blew me away. I then got to thinking about the other places I’ve lived or family has lived and tested if other such dealerships were locked in my memory like my first tree fort and kiss. Monroe, Ct – Dan Perkins, Tampa, Fl - Furman, Tallahassee, Fl - Proctor, Chicago, Il – Gillespie Motors, Ottawa, Il – Bill Walsh, Los Angeles, CA - Galpin Motors.

While thinking about them I could picture the football field sized parking lots along the miles and miles of overcrowded roads these same shiny new machines were all made to fit on. Every light on. Millions of lights using millions of watts, energizing millions of cars, filling millions of parking spots for millions more people. These gigantic dealerships have become as much a part of Americana as the old timey gas stations they were created to frequent. But that old timey gas station and it’s pump bell no longer exists outside of Applebees. Fudruckers is the last place in America where gas is still 27 cents.

Yet it continues and the first thing my friend said after he picked me up was, “We gotta stop real quick for gas.” Followed by an immediate complaint as to how expensive it is and further inquiring about how expensive it is in Los Angeles.

“The Shell on the corner of Fairfax and Olympic is $4.09.” To this he apologized by reasoning that at least he didn’t have it that bad. This same friend just had a baby a month ago, a baby we were on the way to see, and the subject hadn’t even come up. The only topic of conversation America has left is gas prices.

I continued on that I was lucky because I didn’t have to pay the insane prices for gas or other car expenses since I didn’t have a car. He admired it but pointed out that by living in Louisville he didn’t have much other option. I agreed; if I were living there again, I would have to go visit our old friend Sam and add to the congestion.

We then broke down the options Louisville had for trying to get ahead of the curve on traffic. It isn’t terrible as of yet but the population is growing and without some planning it’ll most certainly start getting bad. He was big on the idea of commuter rail and huge on high-speed rail between local major cities such as Lexington, Cincinnati, Indianapolis and even Chicago. It was good to hear such passion for visionary projects in the heart of the country where the media informs us is only full of backwards, small minded, car obsessed idiots. Such is not the case at all and of course it’s not just my friend. The idea of the car ruining, err, running our lives until the grave or asphalt stops us is growing tiresome and it’s about time everyone truly opened up to it. How we in America haven’t been able to take on the reality and benefits of high-speed rail like the rest of the world, among the many other transit options American cities are ignoring is insane.

But America does nothing. Instead of investing in the future for all, we choose to only invest in the future of car dealership owner’s children by visiting Swope or Galpin every four years. It’s and endless cycle that will do nothing but create asphalt of our memories and electric parking lots of our dreams.