COTD: How much for that BMW edition

What better way to explain the benefits of a guppy-shaped car to a populace rebuilding after war than with a cheery cartoon, as BMW attempted to do with this 1950s ad for the Isetta. For the BMWs still waiting to be sold after a few decades in a Canadian dealership, I is Guacamoles has a more involved story:

She left Germany many many years ago, she was told that she'd have a new and wonderful life, away from home, where her face is as common as having a Jagerschnitzel for dinner at your mom's house. She'd be unique, exemplar and admired. People would contemplate and admire her sinuous profile of Germanic origins, she was thrilled to touch the land of the free, to run at the long roads of the most marvelous and beautiful continent of them all. She was really hoping to be ran and enjoyed and to please her new master.

She was fitted perfectly for the occasion, a bright white dress and stunning two-piece wheels, she was looking like a million Marks, tender black leather was all over her luxurious insides adorned the perfect combination of function and form to create a cocoon for speed.

It was a long day that in which she was embarked into a three story ship in Bremerhaven, joining the rest of her fellow friends and relatives, she couldn't help it, but when she was finally docked at her spot, she shed a little spill of oil from the carter, she was that excited.

The long travel was boring and disgusting, but the day finally came, she was finally at America! She was about to make her dreams come true and she was there to fulfill her destiny.

They unloaded her at Montreal, where she could finally smell and drink some of the American air that she lusted about for several weeks, it was a thin cold air, typical of the Canadian winter, the smell of the maples was evident and was filling the otherwise dirty smell of used oil and grease that filled the air of the port.

She was transported along with others to Citation Motors, that was only a temporary home, she thought for herself... several days went by, there was this day when a guy came by, he glanced at her, trying to look not interested, she had seen that face before, people some times tried to avoid looking directly at her eyes, he walked around her, she could tell that he was already falling for her stylish lines and her brand new aroma, he saw her and he fell in love. He asked Mr. Seymour to open the door, the ethereal fragrance of a new car is possibly the best the man can make, and he fell more and more in love with her. She was now excited, "take me for a spin bad boy, you wont regret it", she was thinking, but he didn't, she was sad, but hopeful, she knew she would not be there much more time...

Days went by, she saw a lot of movement on the shop floor, a 5 series was sold, five 3 series met their new house, she even saw a Z1 leaving the place! My gosh, who wants a convertible in Canada?! Guys would come by her, glanced and looked thoughtfully, she lost her hope after the 3rd month, she only had the chance to be driven 3 times, she recollected that memory and kept it dearly; once, she was driven by a guy with a French accent, she didn't like French guys, she always hated the smell of burnt grease the French fries have, that in fact was the only French thing she knew, but she hated it. Mr. Francois drove her, he was all busy trying to understand how the manual shifting was set up, she decided to stall on him once, just to avoid him... Then came the owner of a small restaurant that lived in Toronto, "restaurant" was a moniker, he had an establishment on Queen Street, and you know what kind of places Queen Street is packed with. He was even in company of a mini-skirted woman, so short that when she sat she left her butt-cheeks marked at the gorgeous leather, she had that scent of cigarette and old dried alcohol that most low scale bar tenders have. She hated her. The woman's cheap plastic heels left a mark on the passenger's floor mat... she decided to fail on the driver, she knew her life was not to be lived with this prick and his harem of dirty plastic girls.

The last time she was driven... an old gentleman arrived on a Jaguar, she knew that was British, she quite didn't remember why she knew that. The man sat on her driver's seat buckled the seat belt and started her, she was excited, he pumped the gas pedal twice, revving her engine up to 6k, "my god, that felt good!!", by this time, her crankshaft was well greased... he knew.

They went to this road, it was awesome! The old gent could drive! Up and down hill, he took her to a safe limit, the trees were expelling that wonderful aroma of fresh maple, the sun was shinning and hot, it was a perfect Ontario spring. Her wonderful handling was tested and she proved worthy, the man was enjoying her. They finally came back, she couldn't smile, but if she had had a human face she would have looked like women look after their first real orgasm.

Paperwork was on its way, the gent was taking her home! Finally! Days went by, new cars stopped coming in, less and less people was at the sales floor. She couldn't see everything, but she knew something was not right, that dense air that forms when things are not well was there. The noise of the pneumatic guns at the repair shop were now gone, there was the occasional ringing on the phones, most of them were unplugged from the walls, some other were left with the auricular out of its base. There was no other sound whatsoever. No human being was there, she felt alone and desperate, was the old gent coming? where's this sales guy, he was really glad to have me here... the first month at least. Where was Mr. Seymour? and Gary, he took care of cleaning her, she knew Gary was in loved with her, she felt her sweaty little hands touching her trunk as an old man touches the buttocks of an stripper.

She waited for the people to come back, she saw the maple leafs turn red and make a carpet of red and yellow figures outside, she saw the snow and the rain, she sat there, lonely and getting old, the dust started piling up on her after 4 months, some how she knew some day the old man would come back and drive her again. Days passed, months and then years, she's been seating there, with only a 5 series as life companion for well over 20 years now, waiting for the day that some fortunate guy comes in a rescue her from this prison. She knows she has a destiny to fulfill out on the streets, on race tracks, hell even on the green grasses of the collectors meetings. Anything would have been better than seating idle seeing the life pass by her eyes. She's there, dreaming of highways and twisty roads, dreaming of that old gent that for some minutes made her happy to be in America.


Share This Story

Get our newsletter


Patrick George

Maybe I'm a pussy or something, but I thought this was the saddest story ever. The poor car just wanted someone to hoon the shit out of her! (sniff)