Motor Masala

You can thank my younger brother for this evening's masala.

Dimitri (not his real name) lives in Baltimore, and has, let's face it, been driving a hoopdie for the last few years. He bought it at an auction and it served him well for quite a while, but lately, various issues have cropped up, and this week, the grim reaper of cars came to claim it. Something about a crankshaft no longer being attached.

Naturally, because the grim reaper of cars is a rude dude, this happened while he was far from home. He needed it towed, but the towing doohickey was going to damage the bumper. He was consulting with a heavily accented nearby garage guy about this when he said that he no longer cared about damaging the bumper, as he already had a line on a new ride.

At this, the guy asked if he wanted to sell the car, because it's an Acura and he wanted the parts for his Honda. Dimitri said sure and asked how much. The guy said, wait, I need to call my cousin. After a conversation in a foreign language, they settled on a price, money changed hands there on the street, and my brother asked where the guy is from. Palestine, the guy said.

If you're any kind of gearhead and live in any sort of urban area, you know that, generally speaking, foreign guys who buy Acuras in order to put the parts in Hondas are Hispanic or Asian. Now, it seems, the reputation of the Acura has spread to at least one other ethnic group. Here's my theory: cars are the international language of guys.