Dodgy motor

When my TV acting work dried up, I worked at corporate presenting even though I had the wrong wardrobe. 

I landed a presenting gig and thought I was ready to become an expert. I’d been booked to pontificate on a raised platform at a huge car stand at the annual glitzy Sydney motor show. On the hour for 8 hours, I had to deliver a heavily scripted 20-minute talk on a new zippy car aimed at young singles. In the land of the non ironic mullet wearing petrolhead I had to make the car sound attractive to 20 somethings who were buying their first brand-new car. I was 36, my de facto was sending secret late night texts to a younger woman and I’d been up all night breastfeeding my second child. Did I mention I know nothing about cars? And I don’t want to? And I don’t care about engines.

 

My first attempt at the talk was for 30 car dealers from around the country. Experts in their field. I forgot the script, couldn’t remember the key selling points, and didn’t know how to use the wipers. I lacked enthusiasm. I don’t own a car, I couldn’t give a rats about a piece of machinery but I had an unemployed partner with a dope addiction and our kids to support. I needed the money. An entertainment agent was paying me $800 for an eight-hour day. I could inhale fumes for 10 days.

 

On a break, I met a nice dark-haired man in the dressing room. He smiled and said hello.

“What do you do?” he said.

“I’m talking about a new car. What do you do?”

“I drive cars.”

“You race them?” I said.

“Yes.”

“You get paid to drive? That’s cool. I love driving manual cars.” And I prattled on about being a secret rev head while he listened patiently. There was an awkward silence, then he handed me a bottle of water. We walked out together and I heard,

“Ladies and gentlemen the champion of motorsports. Marcus Ambrose.”

There were about 300 people waiting for him in a queue.

 

After six days, a younger guy who knew about cars replaced me on the podium. I’m surprised it took them that long.


I like driving someone else’s car

It’s not quite a Jaguar.

Ancient Chinese proverb: Those without a car may have to walk

Call me a freak but when I tell people I’ve got three kids and I don’t own a car they gasp. Australians adore their cars and are very reluctant to give up the idea that city dwelling means not driving all the time. The citizens of London and Tokyo know that living in big cities and driving are not compatible. I love driving, I just don’t love visiting mechanics or car dealers or changing tyres or anything that involves engine parts. So I share cars. I belong to GoGet and Green Car Share. I also have truly lovely friends who have let me borrow their cars when they’re away. Car share is pay as you go, so as a single mum on a tight budget there’s a lot of merit in paying as you use a service. I’m not racking up huge debts to a bank or a finance company. I walk more than I used to and catch buses, and I hardly ever pay for parking (I’m allergic to it).

The only problem I have with car sharing is the owner’s poor taste in radio stations. I have to remember if I book a car to turn off the radio before I start the engine, so I don’t hear rednecks moaning to right wing chauvinistic talkback shock jocks at full volume. Luckily Go Get put CDs in their cars for borrowers to listen to.

Car sharing is good for the planet with so many cars sitting idly on the street not being used. You may have seen me on Today Tonight talking about car sharing but Channel 7 axed the show before my story went to air. Beep, beep.