Week 46: Dodge Viper GTS-R

I have a difficult time with exact years, but instead remember events as a fluid relationship to other events -- a 'that happened sometime after that one thing but a bit before that other' type of memory.

I find myself sleuthing when trying to remember when something occurred. Today's vehicle, a gift from Linda out west in Washington (thank you, Linda), is a Dodge Viper, and this caused me to go into full gumshoe mode. I'll explain.

This car made me remember that for a short time I sold Dodge vehicles and only once saw a Viper come onto the lot - I remember the Viper because I wasn't permitted to take it for a test drive. If I remember correctly, I wasn't even permitted to sit in it.

Now as I write this I don't remember exactly when I worked as a Dodge salesman. I seldom mention that position, not because anything was terrible, but only because the job was a long time ago and only for three months - a way to make ends meet in between jobs and one of a long line of in-between positions I held early in my adult life as an English major making his way in the world.

I remember those three months well, but I can't remember when they happened. Time to put on the weird double-sided Sherlock Holmes hat. Let's think: What do I know?

1. Dodge Vipers debuted in 1991, so it wasn't before that year.
2.  My now adult son was preschool age, so that puts it around mid 90s. Getting closer.
3. We were standing outside the showroom and I was quietly listening to the other salesmen (most of them substantially older than me) talking trash about...think, what was it...

Curt Cobain's death. That puts my stint as a car salesman during April, 1994. (Listening to those type of conversations also contributed to my short stay as a car salesman.)

I envy people who can instantly access months, days, and years without going through that comparison process, but that's not how my brain works.

Overall, this relational memory isn't so terrible except when it comes to my kids, and by that I mean talking about my kids. Parents are expected to remember important dates, or at least months, such as when their child learned to walk, use a spoon, ditch the diaper, and so on, and I don't. Ask me to tell you when my 11 year old began eating solid food and I feel like I'm flipping through the air like today's car picture -- everything stands still in panic. My memories are more like impressionist paintings rather than photos, full of color and emotion, but lacking in solid lines and crisp images.

This can be frustrating, because at times it may appear I'm not paying attention, but I am -- I'm just storing the info away in a different style.

Recently, however, I was thrilled to put this type of relational detective-work to good use.

My wife and I launched a vintage shop on Etsy as a side project for both of us, and numerous times I found an item without a clear date, where I have to look for clues.

I found a vintage map of Route 441 to Florida - I see it was pre-Disney World (opened 1971) and mentions the new golf course in Gatlinburg, TN, which through Google searching I see opened in 1955.

I secured a complete set of vintage Charles Atlas mail-order exercise programs, but wasn't sure if they were 30s or 40s. The last lesson says "Remember Pearl Harbor" so I now know these were not from the 30s.

And so on.

This hobby allows me to fully employ relational timekeeping without the guilt -- I can find specific markers of time events online and then compare what I know with what I suspect, AND I can feel great about my efforts.

Beyond my Etsy store, I also find this relational memory makes it easier to talk to my young kids, because they seem to process information similarly -- lots of vivid memories unencumbered by the tedium of days, months and years.

My memory is a pre-school impressionist vintage collection, with toy cars.

All things considered, I think I'm cool with that.


Doing a bit of sleuthing on this car, I determined this is from the 2005 Hot Wheels collection (sorry Linda -- even though the car was in a yellow Matchbox box, it's a Hot Wheels! -- Nonetheless, it's an awesome little diecast, and I love the flat black finish).


The dramatic wreck pictured in this week's blog courtesy of photographer Phil Pekarcik.