Corvette bummer
David Menzies, National Post
Published: Friday, July 18, 2008
David Menzies’ Chevonda Prevette is one ugly duckling
The gatekeeper in the yellow shirt kept gesturing for me to drive on. Even so, I stubbornly edged my 1993 “Chevonda Prevette” into the driveway of Markville Chevrolet, a GM dealership north of Toronto. I explained I was indeed entering my vehicle in the Pineridge Corvette Club’s Show & Shine extravaganza and I was prepared to pay the prerequisite $15 fee.
The man in yellow looked confused given the odd-looking vehicular specimen idling before him. But he finally relented, allowing me to mosey into the lot where dozens of immaculate Chevrolet Corvettes were glistening in the sun. Upon spotting my vehicle, a man dressed completely in black ran toward the man in yellow. I only overheard the beginning of their conversation.
“Are you kidding? You let him in!?” exclaimed the man in black.
I didn’t hang around for the very real possibility of expulsion, though. I had put way too much effort into prepping my vehicle. So, my Chevonda Prevette took its place among the gorgeous bona fide Corvettes – a mutant ugly duckling crashing a party full of purebred swans.
Keen observers of the automobile genre will undoubtedly realize there’s no such thing as a Chevonda Prevette. It’s a made-up moniker for an automotive abomination. A Chevonda Prevette is, in fact, a garden-variety 1993 Honda Prelude camouflaged to resemble a Corvette.
By way of explanation, much like the protagonist in the movie Corvette Summer, I’ve always dreamt of spending a solstice behind the wheel of a Vette. Yet, dreams die big-time when financial wherewithal is lacking.
But a solution to my Corvette summertime blues came during a recent visit to Markham’s infamous Pacific Mall. When this shopping centre isn’t being raided by the RCMP for piracy, several merchants are only too happy to supply budget-minded poseurs with low-cost knock-offs ranging from Chanel handbags to D&G sunglasses.
If the Diva on a Dime contingent can get by with counterfeit apparel and accessories, why couldn’t I forge a dream car?
Much like any wannabe fashionista, I really had to look the part. Thankfully, I did have the budget for a genuine Corvette mock turtleneck, Corvette baseball cap and a pair of Corvette sunglasses.
Step two – and far trickier to pull off – involved transforming the Prelude into a Corvette, the automotive equivalent of putting lipstick on a pig to make it resemble a beauty queen.
Nevertheless, I did my best to pimp my Prelude. Thanks to the treasure trove of automotive knick-knacks lurking within the automotive department of Canadian Tire, I acquired Chevrolet seat covers, a Chevrolet steering wheel cover and several Chevrolet decals. As well, various Corvette badging was aped via computer magic. Eventually, every “H” Honda insignia found on and in the car was masked by either a Chevrolet bow-tie logo or the Corvette’s iconic crisscrossed racing flags.
Eventually, Glenn rumbled along in his mint condition, red-on-red 1980 Corvette. He parked his authentic Chevy chariot beside my … er … hybrid.
“Wow!” Glenn remarked looking at the Prelude-cum-Corvette.
My sails filled with confidence … until Glenn finished his sentence.
“They actually let you register that?”
It soon dawned on me that I couldn’t just stand there like an idiot. I had to emulate the behaviour of the Corvette owners. This meant constantly shining the exterior of the car and popping the Honda’s hood to show off its motor. The latter was a terrible tactical error on my part. Genuine Corvette
owners would come along and glance into my car’s engine compartment with utter disdain. After all, the Prelude’s powerplant was covered in 15 years worth of grease – all the real Corvette motors were more pristine than surgical instruments.
One Corvette owner literally did a double take upon spotting my Prevette.
“Wow! This one gets my vote!” he said sarcastically.
“Don’t you like my car?” I meekly responded, knowing the Best in Show trophy was about to be handed out.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he called a friend over and the two were soon pointing at my car and laughing uncontrollably. I felt like such a loser.
Glenn felt my pain. He handed me his copy of Corvette America Master Catalog 1953-2007, a 490-page tome festooned with Corvette parts, decals and badges. Obviously, my Prelude desperately required more corrective and/or restorative plastic surgery.
Oddly, nobody actually confronted me about my car’s falsified pedigree – although there were plenty of unfriendly stares. Then again, my friend Brian put things in perspective: “If you were to come across some big galoot careening down Yonge Street claiming to be Napoleon, would you actually debate him on the issue?”
Corvette Summer? Nope. Another season of Prelude Bummer? Yup.