Dear American Auto Makers:

How are you? I’m fine, thank you. Have a brand new grandbaby, which made me think of you. Remember when I bought my first car? It was a 1979 Pinto Station Wagon and the color was to baby blue what Pepto Bismal is to pink. The thing could do 90 without flinching, which I know because doing 91 make it shimmy like teenage go-go dancer. I loved that tragic fashion victim of a car, with its AM radio and manual steering. When Miss Sasha was an infant, she sat in a car seat in the back and we sang along to Elvis Costello playing on a cassette player propped on the front seat. We drove thousands of miles with the windows open and the wind in our hair. I still hate air conditioning.

Speaking of our past, perhaps you’ve recently seen this.

Last night, my dude Pete showed me a picture of a 1959 Mercedes 190D that exceeded 35 mpg, and you’re absolutely right that it’s diesel. After the gas crisis of the 1970s, which made my mother cry and left a pretty big impression on young me, I thought you’d wise up about a few things, but instead you lost your minds.

According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) the average gas mileage for new vehicles sold in the United States has gone from 23.1 miles per gallon (mpg) in 1980 to 24.7 mpg in 2004. This represents a paltry increase of slightly less than 7% over the 25 year period.

Dudes, you fucked up. It’s like you and the oil industry went to Vegas, spent everything in your pockets, maxed out your credit cards, tossed your mortgages on the roulette table, left your kids at the cashier’s office and called your long-suffering wives for loans. No wonder Toyota spent all that time in a Speedo, skimming your pool.

Listen: we could argue for a decade about what kind of future we might have together, but for me, the question is now if we have one. I’m not sure we do after this.

Yes, that’s right. There’s no going back after this. In fact, if God Herself parted the clouds and thundered, Princess, trust Detroit, I still wouldn’t give you a second look while you’re trying to convince us all SUVs are a brilliant idea, because I see with my own eyes and think my own thoughts. Here’s one now: you have been given a golden opportunity to think outside the oil-soaked box. The days of ruthlessly exploiting apparently limitless natural resources are over, and they’re not coming back. You can now cling to our failed past or you can open yourself up to a wild new future. I’ll even tell you what would bring me back home to you.

• Union-made. Straight up: I’ll never buy a new car out of a non-union factory.
• Small. Smaller than that. No. When I say small, I mean that Smart Cars are too big for everything but pre-holiday grocery shopping.
• Interesting-looking. I am so sick of seeing the same uninspired lines and hearing about innovation. Geez, having a new idea wouldn’t kill you.
• Mechanically, it should actually run for 20 years and financially, I should be able to afford it without scraping pesky plans for food and shelter. I flatly am not going into debt for a car when a bus stops at the end of my street.

And this is a deal-breaker:

• Gas mileage must exceed 100 mph city, if it must use gas, and it must be convertible to french fry power. Other power sources now exist. Try them.

In the past, you might have waited out my moods, but those days too are over. Since I care about the birdies my granddaughter may or may never see with her granddaughter and my grandfather is still alive, our future is more than a greasy possibility. Our future is what we make right now, and if you have no plans to change, then you have already agreed that we have nothing else to say.

What’s it going to be, American Auto Makers? Ten years from now, will I be driving a car or will I walk, bicycle or take the train?

Kisses,
Princess Ta