PennSilverTaco's "Perfect 5-Lug Regular Cab" Build, Aspergers, and General BS MegaThread!

I like your autist stories.

10/10

We need more stories.

 

April 14th, 2017

They were at the Shell station today! I had plenty of gas since I filled up on the 12th, but I drove through just so I could get a few still shots with my dashcam...

That's them in the pink:


The black Dodge Caravan had New York plates, and I'm guessing that if the owner (seen filling up the van) is anything like the stereotypical New Yorker, he probably told them to fuck off (or just gave them a look of blistering homicidal fury) at some point before I got there:


Look how many vehicles are at the station in the first two photos (the white F150 and a couple other vehicles left in the time it took me to circle around the whole station), and the two pink-shirted wax-mongers are just standing there. I'm hoping someone finally complained to the station owner, or regular customers have become wise to their tactics and remain vigilant so the guys can't just sneak up on them:

 

@Plain Jane Taco
@LocoLocal
@Iamraiderpower
@ChadsPride

This isn't technically an autism-related story, but it shows how screwed up things could be at times.

I was in 8th grade in 2002-2003. At the end of the school year, it was only a half day. There was a 7th grader whose last name was Hooks (first name withheld in the interest of protecting his privacy; his last name plays a pivotal role in the story). I had once been friends with this kid, but he turned out to be kind of a jerk. We were in two classes together.

My middle school (in Fairfax County, Virginia) had one principle but three assistant principles who were in charge of their own "pod" of kids. One of them was this 30-something black guy named Mr. Moore who was pretty awesome. Unfortunately, he only had 7th grade students. There was another woman in her 50s or 60s named Mrs. Evens who was also a total sweetheart. She was in charge of 7th and 8th graders. I didn't get her either.

The assistant principal I got was the 8th grade-only one, and she was a bitch. Because I'm a nice guy, I will not be mentioning her name. She was somewhere in the age range of 35-40, and she looked young, but she wasn't particularly attractive. She was also very short, not like someone with dwarfism, but she was short... I was 13 years old at the time and I towered over her. One of my coworkers (a bartender/server) is a 5'2" woman of about 24-25 years of age. My assistant principal was only slightly taller (though definitely heavier and "thicker") than my petite coworker. She also was not married. Translation: No children! In my opinion, someone who is in their thirties and has never been married and/or has no kids, has absolutely no business being an assistant principal. She has experience dealing with students, but has no motherly instinct!

So, here's what happened:

In May-June of 2003, some students thought it would be funny to set off stink bombs inside the school. They did this several times but never got caught, and by the end of the year both faculty and students alike were pretty goddamn sick of it. If you want to stink up the hallway at your school, just eat gassy foods at lunch, let it build up inside of you during the second half of the school day, and let 'er rip in the lobby right after school has let out. There will be chaos and mass hysteria aplenty, and even if a staff member finds out that you're the one responsible (which they won't), who's really gonna get in trouble for farting?

Anyway, staff members were conducting random searches of backpacks and packages to make sure that students weren't packing heat (stink bombs). They made no attempt to hide the fact that they would be doing this, and the threat of disciplinary action on the last day of school was enough to deter anyone from smuggling even one stink bomb into school.

It was a half-day, spent saying goodbye to friends and teachers, getting yearbooks signed, and if applicable, picking up large projects. I was in art class and I had to pick up teapot I'd made. It was shaped liked my Black Labrador (Molly), and I still have it almost 15 years later. My awesome art teacher even provided a box for me to carry it in. All I'd brought with me that day was my yearbook, two car magazines to read (At least one was a DuPont Registry), and a few pens for yearbook-signing purposes. When I obtained this box from my art teacher, I put the magazines, yearbook, and writing utensils in it...

I walked by both Mr. Moore and Mrs. Evens carrying my box of stuff and they greeted me with something along the lines of a friendly "Hi, Charlie!" They didn't care that I was carrying a large cardboard box, which could easily be used to conceal stink bombs.

My math teacher was this woman in her late twenties (I think), and I'm not gonna lie...

I thought she was hot. Who the hell hasn't had a crush on their teacher? My first crush (really more of puppy love at that point since I was so young) on a teacher, was in sixth grade when I was 11. She was 26 years old at the time and married, but she was pretty, she was one of those rare teachers I have nothing but good memories of, and a case of puppy love developed.

My math teacher told me fairly early in the school year that since I was in 8th grade and thus would be moving on up to high school the following year, she'd tell me her actual age. I sucked at math, so I was in a 7th grade class. All of the other kids were 7th graders, so they wouldn't get the honor of learning this teacher's age.

Near the end of the school day, I'd realized both of us had forgotten about this arrangement, and I rushed back across the school to her classroom (her classroom was on the complete opposite end of the building from my last two classes). Unfortunately, my bitch of an assistant principal was standing outside her office at the moment I hauled ass past...

She asked me to stop so she could search my box. I initially resisted, but gave in and let her search. That wasn't the problem.

While the assistant principal was searching my stuff, the 7th grader whose last name was Hooks came walking by with one of his teachers, and either gave me a look that I didn't like, laughed, or made a wise-ass remark (or a combination of the three).

Did I swear at him? No.

Did I flip him off? Nope!

Did I hit him? For the punishment I ended up receiving, it would have been well worth it, but also a big N-O!

Remember, his last name was Hooks. Using his full name, I said "Shut up, ***** Hooker." That's "Hooker," as in a prostitute, a whore, a streetwalker, a lady of the night, a lot lizard... Whatever the hell you want to somebody who sells their body for sex.

This 7th grader was obviously annoyed but didn't say anything. His teacher said "Good job, remain calm." The way my assistant principal reacted, you'd think I'd just decked the kid with a closed fist or called him the C-word. Actually, for the punishment I got, I should have called the assistant principal the C-word.

She demands that I come with her and I follow voluntarily, expecting a stern lecture, but no...

She thought using a slang term for a street prostitute to refer to a fellow student warranted putting me in the equivalent of in-school suspension for the remainder of the day (like an hour and a half). I was deprived of saying goodbye to two of my teachers, and a few of the small number of actual friends I had back then. Instead, I was forced to spend my last day of school in the classroom of one of the special ed teachers (one of the few I actually liked; a 50-something guy). I don't remember if I cried or actually threw a fit, but I did go out of my way to make this teacher as miserable as I was. What he was gonna do on the last day of school? Give me a detention? I did not get my first cell phone until later that year when I started high school, and they didn't let me call my parents or my grandmother. My Grandma who lived about 30 minutes away from my school and my parents house was picking me up that day because my parents were busy (it had something to do with my dad's work; a lunch of some sort?). I didn't even know my grandma's number at the time so I couldn't call her. The bell finally rang, and I took off like a bat out of hell.

My Grandma (then 77 years old; Sadly she passed away in January 2015 at the age of 88) was already waiting in the pickup/drop-off area in her silver 2000 Buick LeSabre Limited. The only thing on my mind was getting in the shotgun seat of that Buick and never looking back...

But, my gym teacher who I actually liked saw me and stopped me to say goodbye and wish me good luck. I stopped to chat, and while I was talking to her, none other than ***** Hooks happened to show up. Some words may have been exchanged between us (I don't remember), but nothing else happened. If there hadn't been a teacher present, that kid would have started his summer with a black eye at a bare minimum. I seriously would have just decked him, made a mad dash for my grandma's Buick, and never looked back. But not only was there a teacher present... It was a teacher I actually respected.

My Grandma took me home, and I was calm during the 10-minute drive home...

However, all of my bottled-up rage just released itself when I had the misfortune of stubbing my toe on the baseboard as soon as we walked in the door at my parents' house, and I managed to kick a huge hole in the drywall just above the baseboard. What's most impressive is that I'd removed my shoes at the door and was only wearing socks (how do you think I stubbed my toe?), and I didn't injure myself even more by kicking the wall. My foot literally went right through the wall and it didn't even hurt. My Grandma was standing right there and witnessed the whole thing. I don't know who was more shocked, me or her.

I'll admit that meltdowns were a common thing when I was younger, and I've lost count of how many times I've kicked or punched walls during a tantrum, but every other house we lived in could take it. That was one of the more cheaply-built houses my parents owned, and even wearing sneakers I'd never been able to penetrate drywall, before or since.

So, I spent the next few hours playing Grand Theft Auto: Vice City on the family room TV while my Grandma read the newspaper in the kitchen. My parents got home later that night and were surprisingly not that upset about the hole in the wall. Once I told them about how I'd been treated by my assistant principal on the last day of school, they seemingly forgot about the damage I'd done to their house.

That night, before I went to bed, my mom came into my room and said that I was not in any trouble, but asked if I actually knew what a "hooker" was. I said something along the lines of "Yeah, a prostitute." I'd known what a prostitute was since I was like 11 or 12, but I didn't hear the term "hooker" until I rented a certain Mark Hamill movie at Blockbuster video in 2002. HINT: It isn't Star Wars.

Basically, the cable company was so busy that we had to wait until like a month after we moved into the house to get it hooked up. That summer the DC metro area was going through a record heat wave (even by DC standards), and I was the new kid, so I preferred to spend my days on the couch with the central air cranked. The problem was there was no cable, so my mom rented me a like 3 or 4 VHS tapes a week until we got cable (I got a PS2 as a Christmas present from my parents in 2001, but I was unaware at the time that it could play DVDs; When I learned it could play DVDs, the parents and I started making the switch; Though I got sick of my parents hogging MY game console to watch THEIR movies, and they finally bought a DVD/VCR combo in 2003).

As long as it wasn't rated R, my mom let me get whatever I wanted. I came across this movie at Blockbuster, my mom approved, and I brought it home. For those of who don't know, Corvette Summer is one of the few movies outside of the original Star Wars trilogy that anyone who isn't a diehard Mark Hamill fan will know Mr. Hamill for. Mark Hamill was the star, portraying a car-obsessed high school senior named Kenny Hadley. Annie Potts starred as Vanessa, a self-described "Prostitute-in-training." She refers to herself as a hooker fairly early on in the film, and it only took me like a second to learn what a hooker was.

Fast-forward a little under a year and that's what I called that 7th grader...

My parents contacted the assistant principal a short time later and expressed their disapproval. They told her that whenever I did something wrong at school, they had always sided with staff when it came to me getting consequences so I'd learn the difference between right and wrong and grow up to be a good person. This time, however, they told her they felt she'd really crossed the line in forcing me to miss the last hour or so of my last day of eighth grade. My mom told me she actually said something along the lines of "You had no right to punish my son in the way that you did just because he used a slang term for a prostitute to insult a fellow student."

This same assistant principal was reportedly so mean to a close friend of mine (still friends with her today), that she started crying.

 

@Plain Jane Taco

One of the reasons my grandma on my mom's side (mom's mom) was so awesome!

That same day I was unfairly punished for using a slang term for a whore to insult a fellow student, I unleashed my anger and frustration on the virtual citizens of Vice City, Florida (and their vehicles) as soon as I got home. I was playing GTA on the 32-inch Sony Trinitron (LIKE if you or someone you know owned one of these badass TVs) in the family room, and my Grandma was sitting at the kitchen island reading the Washington Post.

Those of you who are GTA fans will know that the main protagonist of Vice City is a 35-year old Italian-American mobster named Tommy Vercetti. Very few things were capable of drawing my grandma's attention from any kind of reading material, but Vice City intrigued my grandma enough that she looked up her newspaper to watch me play. Almost immediately, she laughed and told me she thought that Tommy was bow-legged.

Here's the best part:

I had a magazine full of cheat codes, including one for the "Romero," a hearse. Here is the Vice City rendition of the Romero:


The version in San Andreas resembles a 1970s Cadillac. Later versions in the HD games (GTA 4, GTA 5) resemble a 1998-2011 Lincoln Town Car. The Romero made it's debut in Vice City, and inaugural version resembled a 1984-1986 Buick hearse in my opinion. When you punched in the cheat code, the car would spawn either with or without a casket in the back (the one in the picture above has a casket). This was totally random and you had no choice. I spawned a Romero while my grandma was there that day, and I got one with an extra passenger in the back.

My grandma noticed that there was a coffin in the back of the hearse and asked (jokingly of course), "Is that me back there?" Me and my family members still laugh about this remark to this very day (BTW she lived almost 12 more years after making that remark; and as per her final wishes she was not even buried in a casket; her body was cremated).

I really do miss my Grandma!

Obviously I'm not gonna share her full name, but...

Grandma B
June 11, 1924-January 13, 2015
Rest in Peace!

 

@Plain Jane Taco
@LocoLocal
@Iamraiderpower
@ChadsPride

I talk about the amazing young woman I work for all the time. She is not only my boss, but also my mentor and one of my closest friends. I'm a conservative guy in his twenties, and I do not like to cry in front of my friends. On the opposite end of the spectrum, my boss tends to get uneasy when people cry in front of her. I was in my boss's living room playing her dog when I found out over the phone that my grandma had slipped into a coma and probably wouldn't make it through the weekend.

My Grandma went into a coma on either January 9th, 2015 (Friday) or January 10th (Saturday). I can't remember to be honest. She passed away peacefully in the early morning house of January 13th, 2015. This started out as a normal day. My dad went to work before I work up, and my mom planned on staying home. I ate breakfast, got dressed (I almost always eat before I get dressed), got in my Tacoma, and drove to my boss's house. To this day, it is not uncommon for me to begin a typical workday at my boss's house. I took Tully for a walk, and then we (meaning me and Tully, the dog; She honest-to-Christ actually watches certain TV shows) watched COPS on my boss's 63-inch TV while I waited for my boss to get ready.

For some reason, I needed to call my mom, so I called her and it rang and rang before going to voicemail (no more than an hour had elapsed from the time I got in the Tacoma and this moment). I called my dad, wondering what the hell was going on. My grandma had been in assisted living since about August 2014, and by the time 2014 turned into 2015, she was pretty much in hospice at this assisted living facility (not a nursing home but a huge resort-like "active lifestyle" community; My Grandma lived in a 2-bedroom apartment here from 1999 to 2014 and was completely independent up until 2013 or so; She was driving until mid-2012). My dad told me that the staff had found her unresponsive (but alive) in her bed that morning and were unable to wake her. The staff called my aunt and uncle (who live 30 minutes away), and they called my mom (we live 3 hours away in another state). My mom hastily packed her bags, threw everything in the back of the Murano, and hauled ass down to Virginia after a vague conversation with my dad about what was going on.

My dad said mom was driving and not answering her phone, but he said I could attempt to contact my mom's sister and her family if I wanted. I said goodbye to my dad and called up my aunt, surprisingly actually reaching her. She filled me in on what exactly was going on. It became clear almost immediately that this was not just another "false alarm." My grandma was probably not going to wake up again, and more than likely wouldn't even make it through that night. My aunt told me that my cousin (her oldest son) would call as soon as possible so I could basically say goodbye to my Grandmother over the phone. My mom was driving to Virginia at that very moment. The oldest of my mom's sisters was flying out from California, and the youngest was flying up from Georgia. The phone got handed off to the aforementioned cousin, and not knowing what to say, I asked him point-blank if "this was the end." He calmly said "Yes, Charlie." I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach by Floyd Mayweather, and the phone was handed back to my aunt. I was on the verge of tears at this point, but I tend to be very good at hiding my emotions at times (especially over the phone) and she didn't seem to notice. Now, she seemed to want to talk, and it was a couple minutes before I was able to say goodbye. The tears were now beginning. My boss was still upstairs doing her makeup or something.

I manage to squeak out her name as I make my way up the stairs, but she doesn't hear me. I call her name again, and she's like "Yeah, Charlie? What's up?" She came out of the bathroom and we came face to face.

What came out of my mouth was borderline gibberish, but my boss pieced together the words "grandma," "coma," and "dying." Needless to say, she figured out what I was trying to say pretty quickly, and the floodgates opened. I buried my head in my arms up against the wall in my boss's second floor hallway and just started sobbing. My biggest fear was that my boss would somehow think less of me because I was a 25-year old straight guy and I was crying like a baby. My boss's 2-bedroom house is 2 stories, but it was built in the 1920s and is incredibly small. Needless to say, the upstairs hallway is barely big enough for two average-sized adults. When one of those adults would pass as the Incredible Hulk if he painted his body green, forget about it! I tried to hug my boss, but she isn't the hugging type (just a sensory thing). She told me to go back downstairs and she'd been down soon. Still crying, I went back downstairs and buried my face in the sofa. My boss literally dropped everything she was doing (her makeup wasn't done yet and her hair was still a mess) and came downstairs. She sat down in the rocking chair across from the couch and told me how devastated she'd been when her grandma on her dad's side had passed away (She strongly hinted, but didn't outright admit, that she'd handled that situation in a way similar to how I was handling this one). My boss may not be the hugging type, but she knew just what to say. She is truly one of the most kindhearted and selfless people I've ever known.

Dogs have a mystical ability of being able to tell when their owner or somebody else they love is sad, and Tully is no different. Tully got up from her bed, came over to me, and started licking my tears away.

My boss is like "See, Tully doesn't like seeing you sad either." She then said something along the lines of "I'll take you bowling next week. How does that sound?" My boss is an avid league bowler and had been promising to treat me to a one-on-one game for a couple months at this point. I loved that idea, and it only took me another few minutes to calm down.

At work later that day (as in at the bar where my boss is the general manager and I work as a barback, not her house), my cousin called back and said that he would hold his phone up to grandma's ear if I wanted to say anything. I lost my composure yet again when I said goodbye to my Grandma, telling her that she was best grandma ever, and that it had been a great 26 years (I was still 25, but 2 months away from turning 26), among other things. I thanked my cousin, said goodbye, and went into the only truly private place I could think of (the men's bathroom). Once I'd composed myself, I went about my day.

Everybody thought my Grandma would pass with 12 to 24 hours, but she held on for about 3 days. She never woke up, but she was alive and I am personally pretty sure she could hear us talking to her even though she didn't open her eyes or give any acknowledgment that she heard us.

My grandma passed away peacefully on the morning January 13, 2015 (a Tuesday). Again, I was at work, and waiting in line at a local hoagie place owned by another friend of mine to order lunch for me and my boss. My dad called me and told me that Grandma had passed away. At this point, I'd already let all my emotions out a few days earlier and was prepared for the inevitable.

 

@Plain Jane Taco
@LocoLocal
@Iamraiderpower
@ChadsPride

However, there is one thing I'd like to mention. Within an hour or two of finding out my grandma had gone to heaven, I was driving down a residential street near my work. I am not joking...

I sensed a presence in my Tacoma, looked over at the passenger seat, and there she was...

My Grandma, looking very much alive, was riding shotgun in my Tacoma (though can a regular cab truck truly have a shotgun seat if it doesn't have a backseat?). She was even wearing her seatbelt, which is something that I regularly had to remind her to do when I was in any vehicle with her. She had that exclusive-to-her bright smile on her face, and I am 100% convinced that my Grandmother came down from heaven for one last ride in her grandson's truck before walking through those gates to be reunited with my grandpa, who'd died from Alzheimer's 34 years previous. By the time I reached the stop sign and looked over again, she was gone as quickly as she'd appeared, but I know she was there.

Also, my maternal grandma is one of only two grandparents who have ridden with me in my truck. When my Grandma rode in my truck, I didn't have my license yet (just a learner's permit). This was also the one and only time my truck has been somewhere besides Pennsylvania or New Jersey. It was sometime in late spring or early summer in 2010, my truck was literally brand new, and my dad and I drove down to Virginia for the weekend. My Grandma, who is not shy about her dislike of Japanese vehicles, asked if I'd give her a ride in my new truck. My Grandma had a valid Virginia driver's license and was still driving that aforementioned 2000 Buick LeSabre in 2010. Virginia as far as I know has no law against driving on an out-of-state learner's permit as long as you're with a licensed driver.

I gave my grandma a ride around the block in my brand new Tacoma, and the grandma I saw in my truck the day she died in January 2015 was the grandma I remember from that ride in the truck back in 2010...

 

I wonder is that a company owned station ??

Company stations just have managers .

If it is company owned a few hundred letters should solve the problem if business falls off .

 

I ran into them (FW1) at a couple of stations and just told the one guy I wasn't interested. Although the station in Delaware had a couple of damn good looking young girls trying to sell the stuff. When one approached me I told her I would buy some if she had dinner with me(I know typical dirty old man), and guess what, she walked away. Sometimes if you catch them off guard before they start they back off. Usually my Tacoma is so dirty I could just tell them "Does it look like I give a shit how it looks"

 

I totally agree with you about your assistant principle. Not married and no kids should be a red flag.

That was a great game, I played it way too much probably.

That's amazing and touching. Best bunch of stories I've read on the entire site.

 

@ShamwowTaco

This is more of a "Good Old Days" story than one about growing up with Asperger's, but still good...

From 1998 until 2000, my dad was stationed at NAS Norfolk and we lived in nearby Virginia Beach. Our family vehicle was a 1996 Nissan Pathfinder SE (the first vehicle we bought that had a CD player), and my mom primarily drove that after my dad sold our 1990 Toyota Camry. My dad drove a 1990 Mazda B2600i LE-5 4x4 that he bought from the original owner in either September or October of 1998. Here are some pictures of me with that Mazda (all taken in 2000):





My dad bought the Mazda for the sole purpose of having a reliable second vehicle to get him to work in the morning and home at night. We knew we would be moving again in 2000, and my dad knew he'd be selling it and buying something newer when we did move. When my dad went looking for a truck, he had very few requirements. The biggest thing was that it had to have air-conditioning. This is why dad didn't buy a Jeep Wrangler. My dad actually did seriously consider buying an early 1990s Jeep Wrangler, and I was thrilled. However, even in Virginia Beach, where summers are brutal, the vast majority of Wranglers older than 1997 for sale did not have A/C. All of the Wranglers that did have A/C, even the used ones, were priced well above what my dad was willing to pay for an older-model commuter vehicle. On top of that, the Pathfinder was only 2 years old at the time and not paid off yet, and my dad did not want more monthly payments. He wanted an older truck with working A/C, and he wanted to pay cash.

 

@ShamwowTaco

The Ballad of the B-series (Part 2):

My dad did not care if the truck he bought was a stick shift or an automatic. Both my mom and my dad know how to drive a stick shift. A/C aside, my biggest requirement was that it at least had an AM/FM stereo and cassette player. The Pathfinder was a 4x4, so my dad did not go out of his way to seek out a 4-wheel drive truck. In fact, pretty much all of the trucks my dad looked at before buying the Mazda were 2WD, and all except this one early 1990s Ford Ranger had a manual transmission. Here's a list of all the trucks we looked at before finding the Mazda and why my dad rejected them:

Black or dark blue 1989 Ford Ranger extra cab 5-speed 2WD: This truck was located at a new car dealer's used lot, and it ended up being a total fustercluck. Like most of the trucks we looked at, my dad found this one advertised in the local newspaper; The only reason we went to look at it is because it had a V6 engine (almost all of the trucks my dad looked at were 4-cylinder) and was extraordinarily cheap compared to similar trucks. This truck had been ridden hard and put away wet. On top of that, it had a cap on the back (no pun intended), and my dad hates caps/camper shells. Despite all of the truck's shortcomings, my dad test drove it for some reason. It started right up and ran much better than it looked. It also drove just fine, and the A/C even worked pretty good, but the truck was a rolling shrine to the redneck lifestyle. It had a Jeff Gordon #24 sticker still in one of the rear windows, and the previous owner had done a very amateur job of wiring a 4-outlet AC/DC strip into the truck's electrical system and bolted it to the bottom of the dash. Also of note is the fact that this Ranger was a 2WD, but it had a mild lift kit, and I thought it was a 4x4 the first time I saw it. My dad likes stock, and a lifted 2WD truck is quite far from stock.

In addition to that, the salesman was kind of an asshole. Every other truck we looked at, whether it was being sold privately or by a dealer, the seller let me and my dad take the truck out on our own. I consider the test drive a vital part of the father/son bonding experience when looking for a vehicle. This jerk insisted on coming with us and made me cram into the tiny jumpseat in back (anybody who remembers the the mini trucks of the 1980s and 1990s remembers that rear seats in so-called extended cab models were designed for the sole purpose of meeting basic legal requirements and not meant for anyone but children). The salesman came with us when my dad test drove a 1996 Pathfinder for the first time, but he was much friendlier and even let me ride shotgun in the new Pathfinder! Like I said, we did not buy this Ranger.

Beige 1989-1992ish Ford Ranger extra cab 2WD: The only truck I remember my dad test-driving that had an automatic transmission. It was fully loaded (Power windows, power locks, cruise, tilt, A/C, tape deck) and in great condition, but the small mom-and-pop used car lot selling it wanted way too much. My dad test drove it (and this time the salesman, this older black guy, let us take it out on our own. However, we didn't buy it.

1996-1997 Isuzu Hombre: My dad found out about these in the newspaper as well, and was shocked that they were so cheap. We're talking $5,000-$6,000 for trucks that were only a few years old. These were definitely not new trucks, but they were no more than 2 years old and had low miles. My dad grabbed me, and we hauled ass out to the lot where these trucks were located. There were almost a dozen identical white Isuzu Hombre regular cab 2WD pickup trucks. For those who do not know, an Isuzu Hombre is nothing but a Chevy S-10 with a different front end and "ISUZU" badging. They had GM Vortec engines and were built in the same factory as the Chevy S-10 and GMC Sonoma, but they did not sell very well. They were made from 1996 until 2000, and they remain one of the rarest trucks of the late nineties.

The biggest thing I remember is that the place selling these trucks was a former McDonald's (or some other drive-thru fast food place). Also of note is the fact that it in the 90s that day. Why do you think these trucks were so cheap? What's the one requirement my dad had for a truck? That's right...not one of them had A/C! My dad thanked the salesman for his time, but said that no A/C was a deal-breaker and we left.

1993 Toyota SR5 extra-cab 2WD: It might have been a 3.0L V6, but I'm pretty sure it had a 4-cyl. engine, and it definitely had a 5-speed stick. It did not have power windows or locks, but it had A/C, a tape player, and I think it may have even had cruise and tilt. The paint was like a greenish gray color, and it had a gray interior. An older couple who lived in this condo was selling it, and my dad loved this truck. We test drove it, and I had a nice conversation with the woman while her husband and my dad talked business. They couldn't reach a deal. These people knew what they had (a loaded 5-year old Toyota pickup), and were unwilling to go below a certain price. We walked.

 

A '96 with a CD player? You guys were living large! Lol, I don't think I had a car with a CD player in it until like 2006. I always liked Pathfinders, one of my aunts had one. Great pictures.

 

I had a customer who used carbonated water and bitters when they ran out of ginger ale.

X2 on Canada Dry.

 

@ShamwowTaco

This one I believe deserves it's own thread!

The same day we ended up buying the Mazda, my dad and I went to look at a red 1995 Nissan Hardbody pickup. The truck looked exactly like this, but without the cap and the chrome mirrors:



The truck was immaculate. It was not loaded by any means, but it wasn't a base model either. It was a 5-speed stick, and it had A/C and AM/FM cassette. It also had cloth seats. It was a nice little truck, and this lesbian couple had bought it for nothing at a wholesale auction for the sole purpose of moving from North Carolina to Virginia. Now that they were moved into their new (to them) house in Virginia (the house was like 45 years old at the time; built in the 1950s), they didn't need the truck; So they were selling it. My dad was suspicious about one thing. This was a 3-year old truck, as in practically new, and it had low miles even for a 3-year old vehicle. The price was reasonable though, so we went and took a look. My dad test drove the truck, loved it, and was about to make a deal. Good thing he brought me along that day or else he might not have noticed what I noticed until it was too late. I was 9½ years old, and I had just started 4th grade. My dad was 37 and these women were roughly the same age. This is probably one of the exact scenarios that coined the phrase "Children were meant to be seen and not heard."

All four of us (me, my dad, the women) were standing in the driveway, and I noticed a bizarre green puddle that formed seemingly out of nowhere, right under the approximately location of the truck's radiator. Like any 9-year old kid probably would have done, I tugged on my dad's shirt, pointed at the green puddle, and asked "Dad? What's this green stuff dripping from the truck?"

The women didn't really have much to say, and we said goodbye and left. No muss, no fuss, no drama....

They were probably too embarrassed to admit that they'd been outsmarted by a 4th grader.

My dad is 100% convinced that the odometer was rolled back on that Nissan before we even saw it in person, but gave the sellers the benefit of the doubt. He test drove the truck, loved it, and was seriously about to buy it. He actually briefly considered that maybe this was a legitimately low-mileage truck and these women were just motivated sellers. Then, his 9-year old son pointed out what was quite obviously a coolant leak, and the deal was off. The truck probably had rather high miles for the year, and had more than likely been rolled back before the women bought it.

My theory is this: The previous owner put a ton of miles on this Nissan truck in a short period and did not take care of it (Trucks are built to be rack up the miles, but even a Tacoma will develop serious mechanical/reliability issues if it isn't properly cared for). Somewhere along the line after the previous owner got rid of the truck but before these two women got it, a scumbag vehicle wholesaler rolled back the odometer. These women probably did buy the truck to move into their new house, but initially planned on keeping it for a while. Then, problems that had been hidden from them by the wholesaler started popping up long after the ink had dried and it was too late to get a refund (if that was ever an option to begin with, which I doubt). They realized they needed to rid themselves of this truck, and fast. Lucky for them, the truck was not in bad shape in terms of outward appearance. It wasn't dented or damaged, and the interior was in great shape. It looked new, it just had not been maintained under the hood. They probably had it professionally detailed, had all of the fluids (coolant, oil, etc) changed, and listed it for sale.

The truck itself was safe to drive and in running condition. The A/C worked, the engine surprisingly did not overheat (remember, it had a goddamn COOLANT leak!), and there were no weird noises or smells. The truck ran great, drove great, and the transmission shifted smoothly. There no obvious signs that the truck had been in accident.

My dad would have never even considered looking at this truck, much less driven across Virginia Beach to test drive it and then make an offer, if he so much as suspected mechanical problems. However, if these women had just been honest in the first place, they would have sold it. Someone with the mechanical know-how and patience my dad lacked could have fixed the truck and themselves a great daily driver.

THE MORAL OF THE STORY? Honesty is the best policy!

 

A single-CD receiver was an option on 1987-1988 Toyota pickups, though only with the AM/FM cassette. This was a very expensive option since CDs were fairly new technology, but it is not as rare as one might think.

 

@ShamwowTaco

That same afternoon, we drove all the way out to Chesapeake to look at one last truck, a black 1990 Mazda B2600i 4x4. The truck had over 90,000 miles, but the the description in the newspaper met all of my dad's basic requirements, including the one non-negotiable requirement. The ad said the truck had A/C. After talking with the seller on the phone, my dad was even more impressed. The seller was the original owner and he had every service record dating back to 1990 (oil changes, tune-ups, etc). The owner also informed my dad that the air-conditioner did in fact work. That was all my dad needed. Like I said, we drove right from the lesbian couple's house in Virginia Beach to this guy's house in Chesapeake. The guy was selling the Mazda because he had a growing family (he had a wife and at least 2 boys) and had just bought a brand new fully loaded Ford F150 Lariat. My guess is that the dealer where he bought the F150 low-balled him when he tried to trade the Mazda, and he decided to sell it privately. The owner was originally from somewhere in Illinois, and that's where he'd bought the Mazda. He'd done a damn good job of keeping most rust at bay, the key word there being most. The body was rust-free, but the center of the rear bumper where you'd put a hitch ball was starting to disintegrate. The paint had it's share of imperfections, but the truck was in overall good condition inside and out. My dad and I took the truck for a test drive, and he actually took it out on the highway. It didn't take us long to determine that the guy selling the Mazda was genuinely honest. The A/C was FREEZING (still R-12 too; pretty sure it had never been serviced in the 8 years the guy owned the truck, and my dad definitely never had to get it charged in the less than two years he owned it). The truck ran and drove great, the transmission was smooth and precise, and the clutch was good. The seller had gotten aftermarket cruise control installed at some point in the early 90s, and even this was fully operational.

The factory speakers in my Tacoma was shit from the beginning. The factory speakers in the 1990 Mazda had been more than halfway decent when the truck was new, and they still sounded pretty damn good when my dad drove it for the first time. The radio was fully functional, and as an added bonus, the cassette even worked!

My dad and I drove back home to Virginia Beach, picked up my mom, and drove back to Chesapeake that night. My mom approved of the truck, though she didn't drive it (in fact she didn't drive it for the first time until a few months after we bought it). My dad paid like $4,000-$5,000 for the truck (which was actually below market value), and we had it until May 2000 when we traded it for a brand new conversion van. More stories about the Mazda (and I've got a ton of them) to come tomorrow!

 

April 15th, 2017:

They were here again, two days in a row! It's almost always different guys though, and this in my opinion is where most of the problem lies. If it were the same guys, they know me and my truck and know to steer clear. However, because they seem to change the guys on a day-to-day basis, this is exactly how I feel...




Dashcam stills from Saturday (April 15th, 2017):

 

First vehicle I bought that had a factory CD was my '10 Tacoma. Hell, my first truck was a 2006 Colorado..neither that nor the 1997 Olds Achieva prior had anything but AM/FM

 

While my wife was cleaning our oven racks on the back patio, our yellow Lab grabbed an SOS pad and ran off with it. A week later, we discovered he must have eaten it when he began to act sick. A trip to the Vet confirmed he had eaten it. He passed the wire, but the strong soap irritated his entire digestive system. He fully recovered after several medications and a $1,0000.00 Vet bill. Funny, because he was so particular about which dog food he would eat. He was probably three years old at the time. He passed away last year at the ripe old age of 14.

 

That's really interesting. I never knew. Can you imagine being that guy with a factory CD player in an '88? Everyone would think you were a wizard.