I was negged on working from home today, due to my supreme importance or something, and had to go around the insurance company and rent a car. Hopefully, they’ll pay me back for it. It’s a pain in the ass waiting for this form or that one to come in day after day.

What did I get? A Chevy Impala.

Good

• Independence
• 180 HP and 205 ft/lbs of tire squealing torque.
• Cool looking headlights
• The radio can stream the title of the song, so you can say, “Ahh, this crappy group is named A.F.I.”

Bad

• Too big, too American
• Grey as my ol’ ’87 Celebrity, with just as dated styling
• The headlights don’t shut off.
• It has weird seats that are bench on the bottom and bucket on the top. They are soft enough to give you a backache and only extend to mid thigh on a normal human male.
• In the ride to and from work, I wasted a quarter of a tank of gas sliding around corners on a floaty suspension that gives you no impression that you are on the road at all.
• It has a chintzy American interior
• It smells like grandpa.

Posted in Cars