On a walk in Long Island City, Queens, which can fluctuate so quickly from charming tree-lined brownstone streets to a mix of gritty industrial roads and strip malls, I found an old Mercedes that reminded me of my childhood.
The first cars in my memory, as I became aware of the concept of a vehicle at some point around the age of four, in the mid 80s, was my parents’ black Volvo 240 DL and a what might have been a blue Buick station wagon, though I can’t be sure of the latter. When I was 17 I bought a secondhand 1990 Lexus ES 250, which I drove and meticulously kept up until I left for college a few years later. When I was 29, in 2011, I bought a Honda hatchback brand new, with a manual transmission, and a sports-package upgrade. I loved that car and put over 30k miles on it before I had to sell it in 2014, while I was in a particularly tight financial period. Although that period passed many years ago now, I’ve lived carless ever since.
But I remember those old boxy Mercedes, with their mono-wiper, asymmetrical side-view mirrors on the A-pillar, and optional diesel engines. I still want one. And I like knowing there’s still a few knocking around out there. One day, in some distant, suburban future, I’ll have a garage and the by-then “classic” Mercedes sedan I admired in my younger years. I’ll fix her up and spend way to much money on her, deeply impressing the four to seven other guys like me who care about such things.