Berry Berry Hi Krass

~ 1980 -- Very few, if any, of our Petersburg neighbors were aware of the existence of Jaguar as a maker of luxury automobiles. They were not aware that the brand was widely perceived by some people to be a clear step up from a Mercedes. Maybe not in terms of price, but definitely in terms of class. My mother was absolutely convinced that if you drove a Jaguar, you were berry berry hi krass. You had reached the tippy top of material success, and demonstrated that you not only had refined taste, but also exhibited the sort of restrained and ironic temperament of folks who have so much money, they actually hide it in plain sight by buying shit that’s so nice, ordinary people don't recognize how fabulous it is. She was of course, basing this on exactly one experience.

Judy Weiss and the Jaguar XJ12

Judy Weiss was the owner of the only upscale department store in all of Petersburg, and drove a Jaguar XJ12. The store was eponymously named, and located close by Thalimer’s at the Walnut Mall on Crater road. My mom worked as a seamstress three days out of the week, and was paid two dollars an hour. She was very conscious of the fact that she was the only non-white employee at Weiss’, and did her best to stand out, but not so much as to draw attention to her slower coworkers. Judy was friendly with all of the ladies at the store, but took a special liking to my mom. I didn’t understand why, but I could see that Mrs. Weiss genuinely liked my mother, and that made me like her. Judy was an attractive redhead in her forties, well educated, with a superb sense of style. She enjoyed gossiping with the ladies at the store, and told dirty jokes when customers weren’t around. Although she worked six days out of the week, she occasionally took long lunches that turned into short work days, so she could play doubles tennis with her husband Armand. It kept her in good shape, and explained what my mom described as a great hourglass figure for dresses, just like Sophia Loren in Houseboat. My mom was a wizard at movie-themed similes. Ninety nine percent of the time, they were merely accurate. One percent of the time, they were so dead on, it was like some next level Buddhist Koan shit that jilted you into a higher understanding. She seemed to have one ready to go for any occasion. In Judy’s case, the Sophia Loren comparison was accurate and obvious to anyone. Judy had an ass like a fucking shelf, and her tits were like a pair of cornbread-fed juggernauts.

One day, my mom accompanied Judy on an errand. She needed to go pick up her teenage daughter from school for an orthodontist appointment. My mom had never before seen a Jaguar. When she stepped in and closed the door, she immediately noticed the interior cabin was virtually noiseless. The air was cooler, and smelled faintly of leather and perfume. A thick varnish of stillness permeated and filled all the nooks and crannies. Because the car was kept in a garage year-round, the windows were immaculately clean. Judy reached over to open the glove compartment. When my mother peeked in, she saw a solitary item: a pair of brown tinted Ferrari sunglasses folded in half. The compartment itself was barren - a simple cavity that was a miniature chairless version of the cabin. Inside, there was not a scrap of lint, a loose hair, a crumb. Judy unfolded the glasses, and closed the compartment.

All of the components were gorgeously laid out. The steering wheel was upholstered in leather, and the dashboard was surrounded by dials and knobs that looked extremely heavy. Round objects that were intended to be turned had finely etched grooves, just the right depth for human fingerprints to grab hold with minimal effort and discomfort. Along the armrests were automatic gizmos and teeny tiny levers that would make things rotate or move left and right. My mom admired the controls without pressing any - not wanting to look foolish in front of Judy. She thought of how much effort must have gone into the fabrication of the car, attempting to figure out how many men, what types of skills were required to make such a thing. When the car moved, it felt like you were rolling along thousands of indestructible velvet ball bearings. If they were to drive straight off a cliff, my mom was certain that the impact of the crash would be 90 - 95% nullified - cancelled out by whatever force made the car impervious to outward acoustic and kinetic disturbances. She smiled throughout the ride, hoping it would go on and on. It was what cemented Judy’s image as berry berry hi krass.

The Dodge Aspen of Roger and Chun Willenbring

My parents bought a beige 1980 Dodge Aspen station wagon with automatic transmission, tan interior, air conditioning, and roof rack, no side paneling for $1,738. This resulted from a scheme cooked up by my mother, in coordination with one or more of her Korean friends. It involved attending a sales and marketing luncheon and joining a club that allowed its members to purchase things like swing sets, appliances, boats, and cars at substantial discounts. The club had the following stipulations for cars:

1. You specify the exact make and model, along with all of the extras 
2. You submit your paperwork, and agree there are no do-overs
3. You front 100% of the cash in advance
4. You agree to pick up the car yourself directly from the dealership... in Detroit 

Being a generally suspicious person, my dad was not keen on the idea of joining any club. He had a contact of his own he wanted to work. Mike Novak was a sales guy at Triangle Dodge in Colonial Heights. Before becoming a car salesman, he was stationed with my dad at Fort Lee. One weekend, my parents and I went to Triangle Dodge to visit Mike. He offered the same exact car - minus the roof rack - for $3,000. My mother had been talking up the roof rack for months. Mike did not think it was that big of a feature really, and tried talking my dad out of it. My dad went cold on him. I spoke with him recently on the phone about the car episode, and he said this.

"Your mother was dead set on that roof rack. Back in those days, it was a very popular feature you know? For people transporting things they didn't want to be lugging around on the inside, it was a very nice thing to have. I was very specific with Mike. And I tell you, when he tried talking us out of the roof rack, I just soured on him. And we cut the visit short."

So on one cold Saturday morning in February, my dad got on a plane to Detroit with a $100 one-way ticket. He took a taxi from the airport to the dealer and handed the manager his paperwork from the club. After half an hour of back and forth, he wrote the guy a check for $262 in additional fees described in undecipherable legalese printed at the bottom of the papers he held, then drove back to Virginia. He stopped along the way to sleep in the way back compartment. The outside temperature was around twenty degrees. He woke up four or five hours later, continued driving, and arrived home on Sunday afternoon. After a few weeks of driving it, my mom figured out that the left front brake would lock up if you stopped too quickly, so my dad got one of his Army buddies John Schlarb to replace the caliper. This got rid of an annoying squeak, and also solved the locking-up problem permanently, and only cost us the price of a home cooked Korean dinner, a six pack of Budweiser, and ten dollars in quarters for John to go play pinball.