This morning I was gassing up, and the pump handle was giving me fits. It wouldn't click out and start pumping, and the spring around the thing got stuck in the filler neck. I grumble, curse, get in and pull the car up about a foot so I can jimmy the pump handle out of the filler neck, then notice I need to swipe the credit card again. I hear a guy next to me yelling "hey!" I started thinking "what, did I break something?" He proceeds to inform me that his first car was the same as mine, except a hardtop. I waved to him thinking "thanks for the heart attack." Of course he ignored what I thought was my obvious agitation at the time.
I mean, do you ever get tired of hearing it?
"Hey, you should have seen my brother's mailman's dog-walkers (insert car brand nothing like mine) back in the day. It was fast!"
Or "what year is it?"
"What's it got in it?"
Or the tried-and-true, usually from someone who obviously couldn't afford bus fare "how much you want for it?"
I dunno. I've been driving my '69 ragtop for 15 years or so, and I had a '69 Camaro for 21 years before that. If I had $5 every time I got asked "how much" I'd have enough to buy fully restored copies of both cars.
Anything drive you crazy about being a classic car owner?
I mean, do you ever get tired of hearing it?
"Hey, you should have seen my brother's mailman's dog-walkers (insert car brand nothing like mine) back in the day. It was fast!"
Or "what year is it?"
"What's it got in it?"
Or the tried-and-true, usually from someone who obviously couldn't afford bus fare "how much you want for it?"
I dunno. I've been driving my '69 ragtop for 15 years or so, and I had a '69 Camaro for 21 years before that. If I had $5 every time I got asked "how much" I'd have enough to buy fully restored copies of both cars.
Anything drive you crazy about being a classic car owner?