My first encounter was an interesting trailer on a rural highway:
Apparently the Amish have made great strides toward modernization since I last heard anything about them. My limited knowledge of the Amish had me believing that they lived without any modern conveniences--no electricity, no cars, no phones, and so on. Less than one year ago, I even spotted an Amish family riding along the shoulder of a highway in a horse and buggy in eastern Iowa. They're so common in certain areas that the Iowa DOT has installed special signs trying to prevent drivers from turning the buggies into Amish speed-bumps.
Yet somehow I found myself staring at the back of a trailer presumably carrying Amish furniture...a trailer being pulled by a truck, with a phone number and web address prominently displayed all over it. Did I miss something? I quickly came to the conclusion that I must be driving behind one of the greatest rebels in Amish history.
I imagine the driver of that truck is regarded the James Dean of the Amish community, zipping around the countryside in his horseless carriage, shamelessly flaunting his telephone and computer usage. During his childhood, that little rebel must have spent countless hours sitting in the corner, grounded, denied access to his butter churn by his worried parents.
Who knows, the driver probably designed his own website, too. In mainstream American society, "IT Professional" sits somewhere near the bottom of the list of sexiest jobs. But in this case, it wouldn't surprise me at all to learn that Amish women are dropping out of their bonnets at the chance to roll in the hay (probably quite literally) with this wild man. After all, how could Amish ladies not be turned on by his blatant disregard for Amish authority, throwing caution to the wind as he plugs cords into outlets and horselessly transports himself around Minnesota?
Sadly, I never got the chance to meet this crazy Amish bad boy--he turned off the highway, and I regrettably failed to follow him. But my curiosity never faded, and I immediately checked out his website when I returned home that night (click fast, who knows how long before the Amish community tries to sabotage this sinful website). I have some bad news: the Sunrise Amish Store is going out of business. But visiting the website reaffirmed my suspicion about the rock-star lifestyle this guy must lead--his business is open on Sundays, and he accepts online orders...with credit cards! I'm still kicking myself for letting a golden opportunity literally drive away from me.
Fortunately, I couldn't wallow in despair too long, as I stumbled across something equally exciting in a a parking lot just a few miles away. As people focus more and more on sustainable living and protecting the environment, hybrid cars are quickly becoming commonplace on the roads these days. Most people are familiar with the concept of a hybrid car, which combines an internal combustion engine with an electric power source to improve fuel efficiency.
However, even the most knowledgeable experts are unfamiliar with the earliest versions of hybrid vehicles. I was fortune enough to encounter the original hybrid car in that parking lot that afternoon. I'll introduce you to my findings with a simple equation:
That's right, the original hybrid car didn't combine engine and electricity, it combined engine with animal. Where do you think the term "horsepower" came from? Clearly, some slow-witted car guy grossly misidentified an animal when he coined the term that has become the standard for measuring engine power. The moo-mobile's greatest feature? Never again do you have to worry about rising gas prices--just park this beauty in a grassy meadow and let it graze until the fuel gauge points to "F."
All kidding aside, I've gotta hand it to the driver of this vehicle. While most Geo Metro owners understandably hang their heads in shame while driving their glorified golf carts, this guy took the opposite approach and decided to draw as much attention to himself as he possibly could. And he didn't just take out the can of black spray paint and turn his pathetic car into a giant cow, he went the whole nine yards--you'll notice that the even the steering wheel and seats are sporting cow-print covers.
I really wonder how many auto accessory shops a person has to visit before they can find cow-print accessories to fully convert a car into a steer. I'm guessing the owner found himself in the middle of more than a few Abbott and Costello-esque conversations during his search:
Cow car guy: "I'm looking for some cow seat covers."
Salesman: "You mean leather?
Cow car guy: "No...cow!"
Salesman: "Yeah, leather comes from a cow..."
Cow car guy: "No...cow!"
Salesman: "Yeah, leather comes from a cow..."
My only remaining question is this: when the tragic day finally comes and this vehicle reaches the end of it's useful life, does the owner have it stripped for parts or slaughtered?
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