“Kyle, what tragedy has befallen you that you have come into
possession of such an abominable monstrosity? Don’t you have any self respect?”
This is the typical reaction upon hearing that I do, in
fact, drive a 2005 Touring Edition Chrysler PT Cruiser in the colorway “chick-magnet
chrome”. My sex-on-wheels is named Petunia. Let it be known that I did not buy Petunia. Technically, it’s
not even mine. It’s my parents’. When my sister accidentally totaled my first
car, my parents let me drive Petunia and they bought a new car. So it was
basically free for me. So shut up, okay? If you got a car for free, you'd drive it, too, right? Right? Guys?....
Oh, where do I begin? Well, let’s pretend this is a
colonoscopy and start on the outside and work our way in.
To put it bluntly, the PT cruiser looks like a porpoise
running into a glass wall. Nothing about the car is aesthetically pleasing.
It’s as ugly as Emma Watson isn’t. I mean, the designer of this car must have taken
inspiration from a bag of mayonnaise. The front of the car resembles the child of Gene Shalit and a three toed sloth, and the rear resembles Joseph Merrick.
The interior of the car is spacious, yet downright silly. The first thing that people notice when they reluctantly climb into my ride is the lack of window controls on the door. Then, they notice the strange buttons in the center of the dash.
Those little lever-button-thingies are actually the window controls. Why are they placed there? The answer to that question still eludes scientists to this day. But it gets better. Not only are the window controls in the middle for the front seats, but the back seats get the same treatment. Rather than put them on the doors, as is logical, the PT Cruiser has the rear window controls near the floor, between the front seats.
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| Medusa's car of choice |
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| If you cover the top of the car with your hand, the PT becomes a bathtub on wheels |
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| Fun fact: Every PT Cruiser owner’s manual has the number to the national psychiatric help hotline written on the front cover. |
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| This way, you can roll the window down with your foot while you contemplate the series of life choices that led to you sitting in the back seat of a PT Cruiser |
The interior is admittedly spacious. You can fit Donald Trump's ego in the front seat and still have room to spare. The steering wheel is pleasingly large, adding to the feeling that you're driving a vehicle much larger than it really is. The design of the dash gives off a dystopian 1950s vibe. The gauges are all stuck inside of little tubes so you feel like you're looking down a Pringles can every time you check your speed, and a few pieces of the dash are shiny plastic to trick you into thinking metal is actually used in any part of this car's construction.
All the lights on my dash except one recently went out, meaning that I cannot see my speed in the dark. I've tried explaining this during several late-night traffic stops, but no police officer seems to believe me. Apparently smelling alcohol on my breath makes me a liar? But I digress...
In order to fix this problem, one cannot simply open up the dash and replace the lights. Rather, one has to remove the dash from door to door to gain access to the dash lights. So really, maintaining this car is as difficult as looking at it.
Oh, and the driving is as ugly as the aesthetics. My biggest gripe is the turning. The turning radius is just disastrous. Have you ever seen a bow-legged cow stricken with vertigo make a right turn? If you’ve seen a PT Cruiser turn a corner, you’ve gotten close enough. I've done three-point turns just to take a curve on the freeway. The New Horizons probe that slingshot around Jupiter? It was actually a PT Cruiser driver making a U-turn. Once you get up to speed, don't expect to brake quickly. Pushing down the brake pedal feels like stepping on a stack of wet newspaper. The acceleration is pretty abysmal as well. You can floor the gas pedal and still feel like you're driving a depressed slug with a drinking problem. And after driving this, you might have one too.
All the lights on my dash except one recently went out, meaning that I cannot see my speed in the dark. I've tried explaining this during several late-night traffic stops, but no police officer seems to believe me. Apparently smelling alcohol on my breath makes me a liar? But I digress...
In order to fix this problem, one cannot simply open up the dash and replace the lights. Rather, one has to remove the dash from door to door to gain access to the dash lights. So really, maintaining this car is as difficult as looking at it.
Oh, and the driving is as ugly as the aesthetics. My biggest gripe is the turning. The turning radius is just disastrous. Have you ever seen a bow-legged cow stricken with vertigo make a right turn? If you’ve seen a PT Cruiser turn a corner, you’ve gotten close enough. I've done three-point turns just to take a curve on the freeway. The New Horizons probe that slingshot around Jupiter? It was actually a PT Cruiser driver making a U-turn. Once you get up to speed, don't expect to brake quickly. Pushing down the brake pedal feels like stepping on a stack of wet newspaper. The acceleration is pretty abysmal as well. You can floor the gas pedal and still feel like you're driving a depressed slug with a drinking problem. And after driving this, you might have one too.
Overall, I rate the PT Cruiser i/10. There exists no real number that can accurately express my dislike for this car. I wish the car were as imaginary as the number with which I rate it.
TL;DR... *vomits uncontrollably*
TL;DR... *vomits uncontrollably*
