The Beetle

"Well, Mr. Bruns, I can offer you a Chrysler minivan or a Volkswagen Beetle," the rental car agent said.

"Hmm, can I see the Beetle?" was my reply.  I just wanted to see if it was punch buggy yellow or orange. It was an industrial silver.

"Okay, I'll take the Beetle."

In a few moments, I was behind the wheel of a Beetle for the first time in, well, 40 years.  But, this was not a vintage '60s or '70s Beetle. It was a New Beetle, a 2013 model to be precise.

I first drove a Beetle as a delivery boy while a senior in high school. The pharmacy I worked at had two of them, one light blue and the other orange. They were fun to motor around town in, but I guess any car is when you first get your driver's license.

One of the pharmacists, a young guy with long dark hair and a beard, had a red convertible Beetle.  Boy, did he look cool when he pulled in or out of the parking lot with his roof down.

A college friend of mine also had a light blue Beetle. While I poured loads of money into a different used car and repairs every year, he drove his Beetle with few expenses for repairs or gas the whole time we were undergraduates. The only issue the little Bug had was a permanent stain on the passenger door after someone threw up on it.

Over 20 million Beetles have been manufactured by Volkswagen since 1938 in factories across the world, including in Europe, Mexico, Brazil, Asia and Africa. Yet, it seems each Bug has its own personality -- and owners that are fond of them for years afterwards.

I remember when the New Beetle was first introduced in 1997, 17 years after the original Beetle was no longer available in the US. My six-year-old son was so excited to see a red one in a neighbor's driveway, he went over and got a ride in it. Shortly afterwards, he and I made a blue Beetle for a Cub Scouts Pinewood Derby race. (Alas, we were reminded that the Beetle was never a speed demon.)

My Beetle rental car and I did well together for the 50 hours I had its keys this week.  Unlike the '70s models I first drove, this one had power windows -- and cruise control.   Whoooo, take it easy there, little Bug.

It only snarled at me once, after I parked it overnight behind a huge Ford pickup truck.  "Don't you ever leave me behind one of those again!" I think I heard it say.

Oh, and one morning it wouldn't open its trunk, despite my repeated attempts to unlock it.  I can't imagine what the Beetle thought I was going to do back there, especially since it no longer has an engine in the rear.

After fueling it up, I returned it to the rental car lot, took a picture and said goodbye, and hoped it would delight another customer with a trip down memory lane.

In praise of the intelligence of young artists

Following is a conversation that took place between a a young rental car agent and middle-age man at the Albany-Rensselaer train station today.

Agent:  Where are you going today, sir?

Man: Oneonta.

Agent: Oh, wow.  I'm very familiar with it.  That's where I went to school.

Man:  Really?  Where did you go, Hartwick College or the SUNY school?

Agent:  I went to the SUNY school, fortunately.

Man:  That's interesting.  My son and daughter went to a SUNY school.

Agent:  Really?  Which one?

Man:  They went to Purchase.

Agent:  Oh, wow.  Are they artists?  What did they study?

Man:  My son studied music.  His wife studied dance.

Agent:  That's cool.  You've gotta be smart to go to that school.  What are they doing now?

Man:  He's a CPA.  She's going to medical school.

Agent:  Oh, wow!  Like I said, artists are real smart people.   

Father and son

They boarded a crowded double decker New Jersey Transit train at New York's Penn Station. With few open seats in the main cabin left, the two sat down in the open area by the doors, under the arm pits of weary commuters nearing the end of a long day.

The boy could barely sit still. He looked around at the people on the train, few who resembled his dad. Sometimes he looked out the window, pointing something out to his father or asking him a question.  Sometimes the man had an answer, other times not, but he always paid attention to what his son had to say.

The train thinned out as it headed south, enabling the boy to spread out a bit across two seats. The man sat still next to him, moving little except to pick up a pack of cigarettes that dropped from his pants packet. Eventually tiring a bit after an hour, the boy leaned against his father's shoulder, and eyed a small mark by a tattoo that read, "Nick."

"Dad, what's that?" the boy asked, pointing to the mark on his father's arm. In a low voice audible only to his son, he answered. The boy looked up for a moment, then leaned over and kissed the  mark on his father's arm. The man smiled at his son, then looked across the aisle and smiled at another man who observed the touching scene.

The man and boy got off the train at the Little Silver station, heading to their final destination, but certainly not the end of their journey through life as father and son.