The age of mass electric motoring is here. But is the world ready?
The upgrade had been worth it. That throaty roar of a V8 reminded him of Top Gear in its heyday. But he missed other things: the petrol station shop. He missed the snacks and cans of Red Bull; the chamois leathers; the DVD rack; the scented animals you could hang from the mirror; the wilting bouquets of flowers. He missed the Christmas Eve rush of finding presents, exchanging knowing looks with other men who’d forgotten what time ‘real’ shops closed. He looked at the Amazon Gas panel. “It’ll be home before you are” scrolling across. No it wasn’t the same.
The upgrade had been worth it. That throaty roar of the V8 made all the difference. He was old enough enough to remember when ‘petrolhead’ wasn’t just something in the Urban Dictionary. He remembered Top Hear in its heyday. He’d floored the pedal in his first real car and listened as the rasping exhaust drowned out his playlist. He was happy to admit he’d dropped down a gear or two just to hear his car sing. So when he’d been forced to go electric he’d been happy to pay extra for the plug-in sound effects.
But there were other thing he missed. As he plugged it in (he couldn’t bear to give it a gender or a personality. It wasn’t a real car) he missed the smell of the petrol station but also the shop. He missed the snacks and the cheap chamois leathers. He missed the DVD rack and the over-priced milk shakes. He missed the cans of red bull. He missed the choice of scented animals you could hang from the mirror. He missed the wilting bouquets of flowers and random household goods. He even missed the queue of other drivers. He missed being able to guess what car they drove or whose birthday they’d forgotten. He missed the Christmas Eve rush of finding presents, exchanging knowing looks with other men who’d forgotten what time ‘real’ shops closed.
He looked at the Amazon Now Station panel. “It’ll be home before you are” scrolling across. No it wasn’t the same.