The Hybrid

On my recent trip to New Zealand we were accidently given a Toyota Camry Hybrid hire car to speed around at or under the speed limit in.  Drive responsibly, kids.

The securing of The Hybrid must have been the result of a processing error or a shortage of normal cars or something because I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t want it, because hybrid cars are for self-righteous eco hippies and I didn’t want to be put into that whacky hemp basket.  I mean, if you’re that concerned about the environment, then walk.

It's just like your car.

As it turns out, I loved driving the Labradoodle crossbred vehicle.  It was quiet, economical, loved meeting new cars, didn’t bark once, often retrieved lunch and roadkill hedgehogs for us, and wore a big pink pom-pom on its boot.  Cute. 

The jury is still out for me on whether it was a crossbreed, a product of human intervention, or a mongrel that came into the world when its mummy and daddy met on a dark highway in remote New Zealand, sans human mediation.  It’s a big mystery for sure.

One of the key issues with driving around in a car that is a novelty item is you have to deal with endless man ‘me sees car, me likes car’ questions, because males like talking about cars and they apparently love talking about hybrids, because they are just so interesting to talk about.

What I had to deal with on one occasion:

How does the car handle?                 

Well, it has wheels and they drive on the road.

Is it economic?                                   

Well, it's probably a false economy.

It sure has nice lines.

I don't even know what that means. I certainly don't know why it matters.

How does it reverse?

I call on the little elf who lives in the place where there should be an engine or whatever and he reverses for me.