She was beautiful up there on the stage at Harrison Trimble High School in Moncton, New Brunswick, in 1967. Her silky flaxen hair delicately swayed as she finessed the bow over the strings of the first cello in the Saint John High School orchestra that was visiting our school.
When she looked toward my seat in the third row of the auditorium, she played only for me. I was certain of that.
When the concert was over, I bolted from the school past the Saint John High School bus parked outside and sprinted 20 blocks home. Dad was out of town with one of his trucks and our 1966 Mercury Park Lane was sitting in the driveway. With a little persuasion, I convinced Mum to let me borrow it for the 15 minutes that could very well have changed my life.
A film of dust covered the midnight blue, breezeway-rear-windowed behemoth so I gave it a spray then confiscated one of Mum’s bath towels for a quick dry. Risky, but this was an emergency. I wheeled the Merc back to ‘Harry High’ just in time. The orchestra had finished loading their equipment onto the bus and the cello goddess was climbing aboard. I prayed she would take a window seat on the right side. She did.
When the bus pulled out, I followed, knowing it would eventually move into a left-turn lane at a traffic light to the highway to Saint John. Water drips had blown to the centre of the hood of the Park Lane. I hated those drips, but there was no time to put Mum’s towel back to work.
It was all over in a few seconds. The bus got the red light, I slipped into the right lane stopping right below her window. She glanced down at the flashy Park Lane into my hungry eyes. Three seconds of heaven. Then a slight Mona Lisa smile, the bus lurched and she was gone. I don’t think she saw the rogue water drips and probably didn’t realize the Park Lane had a 390, four-barrel carbed engine. Our relationship was over.
I sometimes wonder if that unforgettable smile would have flashed if I’d been driving a lesser car than the Mercury Park Lane. Would a Ford Fairlane, Chevy Nova or VW Beetle have mustered the same reaction?
Did I ever use a car to get a date? I’m not sure, although Lisa admits an initial attraction to my black 1991 GMC Jimmy with a Ramsey winch hanging under the front bumper.
So why, as a certain car rumbles by, do people gasp and crane their necks for a glimpse of the driver while thousands of other cars parade by unnoticed? What is it about the car that gets the girl? Is it the perceived status of the owner? Mobility and freedom?
To definitively answer these questions, a survey of the ‘Woman on the Street’ was necessary. So, over a two-month period, Lisa and I borrowed a 1972 Chevy Camaro Z28, Porsche 911 Carrera, Smart For Two, H3 Hummer and a 2005 Jaguar XJ8 for a few days each.
They were staged, one at a time, in various locations across Canada; in front of a happening Toronto café, a Vancouver late-night ‘hot spot’, an Alberta general store. Lisa and I then randomly asked 20 females to answer a questionnaire on the particular vehicle for a total of 100 respondents.
After considering the questions, our subjects perused photographs of the four other sample vehicles then rated them in order of ‘chick magnetism’, i.e. which car’s driver would the subject be most attracted to.
Sample questions included: “Do you want to know more about the driver?” and “Would you be more inclined to accept a date from him in this car?” We asked if owning the vehicle would lead to a wardrobe change and if they wanted to sit in the vehicle.
Results varied. The Smart ForTwo elicited thumbs up and giggles followed by remarks like, “Where’s the rest of it?” Subjects were shy of touching the pristine Porsche 911 and the Jaguar’s luxurious interior evoked heartfelt sighs of satisfaction. The H3 Hummer and its hypothetical driver got a very positive response in a rural setting, with exclamations like ‘hot!’ and ‘sexy!’ tumbling from the lips of the swooning subjects.
Asked whether her wardrobe would change if she owned a Smart ForTwo, a hip 80-year-old woman shot back with “Oh yes, I’d go buy myself a bunch of short skirts!” Another woman would run right out and get a haircut if an H3 landed in her driveway.
The results? The least magnetic was the 1972 Z28 Camaro. It seems raw muscle will not get you the girl. Number four in our list is the Hummer H3. Third place to the Smart ForTwo.
And now… Men, get your wallets out! The Jaguar XJ8 came in at No. 2 and the No. 1 car that gets the girl is the Porsche 911 Carrera.
But, driver beware, a man using a vehicle to try to attract a woman can be measured by the same stick as a woman wearing a low-cut blouse – the upfront advertising may summon the first look, but it’s the quality of the goods, what’s inside the car, that will stand the test of time.
Follow Garry on Twitter: @DrivenMind99
