What does your vehicle say?

Out and about by Eowyn LeMay Ivey

The ongoing employee contract difficulties in the Mat-Su Borough School District were recently reduced to the simple issue of who drives the better cars.

At a joint meeting between the school board and borough assembly last week, the debate over whether district employees should be making more money instead became a comparison of automobiles. School board member Larry DeVilbiss said when he pulled into the borough parking lot in his run-down Subaru he spotted a nice, rather-expensive-looking car bearing the union's cry for a "Fair contract now." He suggested the sign might be more effective if it were instead on his ratty old car.

Earlier at the same meeting, a school board member and union representative were overheard making similar comments - "Boy, that sure is a swell, shiny car you're driving there," one said to the other, who then responded, "Not much compared to that big old new truck you've got." And so it went.

The conversations got me thinking, however, about what our vehicles do say about ourselves. Are they accurate indicators of our wealth?

Looking back over the people and cars I've known, I decided it's not nearly that simple. Vehicles, it seems, have very little to do with how much we make.

Here at the Frontiersman, for example, the steady parade of automobiles has been quite a depiction of the characters who have come and gone with them. There was the assistant editor who drove a beater of an old Jeep that easily classified as an antique. Between its hard-to-find parts and constant breakdowns, it was hardly cheap to own. Nor was it dependable. More than once, its owner had to walk or bum a ride to work, sometimes because the old Jeep quit working but more often because it simply ran out of gas. The gauge was broken, so there was never any telling how much was in the tank.

Something about that old Jeep fit its owner, however -- a little quirky and independent.

Then there was the sports editor who drove to work his first day in a rugged, big-wheeled, camouflaged truck but soon switched to a shiny, hot pink little car that earned the nickname, "The Bean," as in jelly bean. Perhaps we can't rush to any character judgments there, however. It might have just been a spell of bad luck.

All around the Valley, though, you can find equally interesting combinations of vehicles and owners. There are those who will spend their last dollar to have an off-the-showroom-floor new vehicle, and those who will spend the last dollar they'll earn in 10 years. Others, however, would rather own something free and clear, even if it lacks a few doors and windows. I kid you not; yesterday I saw a car with duct tape for a window. That's right, strips of duct tape, one after the other, covering the driver-side door window.

But I don't think we can make assumptions about the people behind the wheels of any of these vehicles. They could be wealthy but not want to spend all their money on how they get to and from work. Or they could be poor but willing to rack up years of debt because they want a nice ride.

So what about me? Well, it depends if you find me on a good day or a bad day. On a good day, I get our Ford Explorer, which we own thanks to Matanuska Valley Federal Credit Union and Mom. It's nearly 10 years old and it's piling up the miles, but it's clean, shiny, dependable (knock on wood) and there is room for me, my husband, our daughter, our oversized retriever and a weekend's worth of camping supplies.

On bad days, however, I get our dying pickup truck. Its windshield is not just cracked but shattered, which is an entirely different story that I'll leave out to spare my husband. The steering column makes a lovely chirping scream most of the time, and we are all placing bets as to when the engine will fall completely out. We drive it to Wasilla counting on the goodwill of our neighbors, who we hope will stop if they see us on the side of the road. And we never drive it to Anchorage.

I'm not sure what is more embarrassing about the truck -- the growing rust spots and mechanical squeals or the flock of ravens and magpies that follow it around, thanks to the roadkill trapping bait in the back. A friend admiringly called it a "good farm truck."

I'm fairly certain the vehicles we drive say less about our financial situation and more about our priorities and how we want to present ourselves to our community. I'm just not sure where that leaves me.

Eowyn LeMay Ivey covers outdoors, education and rusty cars for the Frontiersman.