It's only a scratch!

I took the Ghia to Auto Artists to get touchup done on some of the paint chips and scratches. The problem is that the current paint job was a custom color and I don't know what it is. Auto artists tried to match the color as close as possible but it has a metalic fleck in it that is difficult to match. Oh well, it's only a scratch...

My dad's Ghia was his pride and joy. How I managed to get to take it out on dates I'll never understand (see "Tales of Ghia head turners" October 24th post.) Especially after I managed to wreck the family station wagon the first time I drove a car all by my self.

In Salmon Idaho in the early 60's you could get a drivers license by just showing up at the county court house with your parents. They sign an affadavit that you can drive and you're issued a license, no questions asked. So I got in the family station wagon and went cruising. First stop was at a friends house to show off my new status. This particular friend had long driveway lined with a picket fence. The problem was I turned into the drive too close to the fence. The fence's corner post was a lot stronger than all the trim, door handles and paint on the right side of the station wagon.

I knew I was in trouble. So I went home, parked the car out in front of the house, fessed up to the deed and tried to calm my now angry father. He had a temper, especially with autos. Mom called him an autoholic, an epithet she now applies to Chris and I. I told him "It's only a scratch." After inspecting the car dad yelled at me, "Only a scratch! You scrapped off half the side of the car!" My driving days were over for quite some time.

My father was of the "trust but verify" school. After a year he decided to trust me with the Ghia, but he would verify that trust the next morning everytime I had the car out the night before. I decided to get my revenge when I discovered the fake paint scratches at the local novelty store. As an insurance policy I let my mom in on the plan in case dad would be so enraged that murder would ensue. So after a late night date I carefully removed the adhesive backing from the fake scratch and pasted it on the right front fender.

The next morning, true to form, my dad went into the back yard driveway to inspect the car. Mom and I watched from the kitchen window, quietly laughing with anticipation. My dad started with the left front fender and then around the rear of the car and up the right side. He was like someone from CSI taking in every possible clue no matter how small. By this time mom and I were outright laughing.

Then dad saw the scratch. It is difficult to describe, but he was like a volcano building pressure leading to a final outburst of molten lava, hot and red. Steam escaped from his ears and he began to pump is fists and turn in circles stoping at each turn to look at the scratch. My dad was in the throws of an autoholic fit with an eruption bound to hit 8 on the richter scale. Mom and I howled with delight. Dad then turned and got closer to see just how much damage was done. As he rubbed his fingers along the scratch he could sense something wasn't right. The scratch had an edge to it. On closer inspection he found he could lift the edge and as he pulled the scratch pealed right off the fender! Dad realized he'd been had. He went from steaming righteous anger to an embarrased silence.

Dad never mentioned the paint scratch and he never inspected the Ghia again after I had been driving it. I try to take the same approach with Pat, she has had a habit of putting scratches in our vehicles, until this summer when I was the primary culprit. I'm still working on fixing that one.