I'm not the kind of guy who turns down
the opportunity to pilot a huge frankfurter around South Florida; so,
that's exactly what I did about 20 years ago. Man, it really was
almost 20 years ago. Time really flies when you're clawing out an
existence.
What brought this to mind was a frantic
search this morning for some archival photo to throw up on Facebook
for “throw-back Thursday.” I came across some photos taken the
day I spent behind the wheel of an Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. I write
“a” Wienermobile because at the time, Oscar Mayer operated six
such vehicles: three or four in the U.S., one in Canada and another
dedicated to foreign marketing.
My Wienermobile crew: From left Donna Grady, Michelle Navedo and Jonathan Rhudy. |
The corporation, part of Kraft Foods,
hired two freshly graduated college seniors – Hotdoggers – to man
each Wienermobile. These, I understand, were and still are highly
prized 12-month positions that the hot-dog maker actively recruits
for on college campuses.
My buddy John, at the time, was the
regional sales manager for Kraft Foods in South Florida. During one
of our outings, I expressed a desire to drive the Wienermobile. I was
writing the auto pages for the Palm Beach Post at the time,
and thought it would be a fun story. As it turned out, the story was
picked up by a couple of other newspapers including the Washington
Times.
Amy and I. |
I received a call from John one day
notifying me that the Wienermobile would be in Palm Beach County on a
particular day, and Oscar Mayer would make it available to me for
four hours or so. We settled on a location and time where I would
meet it and its crew. I called my buddy Amy to see if she might want
to tag along and shoot some photos of this landmark event. She, of
course, was in!
Arriving at the appointed meeting
place, we found the vehicle set up in a parking lot with its side
door open and a sign in front just as though it was participating in
an event of some sort. It, obviously, had attracted a gawker or two.
There was actually a crew of three that
day. One of the Wienermobiles had been somehow damaged and was in an
airplane hanger somewhere being repaired. Mayer split its two-person
crew between two other Wienermobiles, one of which was mine.
Engaging the slalom. |
The crew had set up a simple slalom
course with small orange cones to measure my capacity to pilot this
monster. Having bested the course, they then set up cones to test my
parallel-parking skills. No surprise that there is virtually no way
to view what is happening behind this thing. Even the outboard
mirrors aren't sufficient to provide a comprehensive rear view. But,
even in the early 1990s, there was a degree of camera technology. I
don't remember clearly, but there were either two or three rear
cameras.
I had never attempted to park something
this big; nor had I ever parked anything using TV monitors for the
rear view.
Receiving my well-deserved props from the crew after parallel parking. |
I slid the Wienermobile into the space
on my first try. I probably couldn't have done it again had you put a
gun to my head. But, I did do it on the first attempt. Whether the
crew was actually impressed, I have no clue; but they sure acted like
it.
My two tests completed, I received some
basic dos and don'ts regarding my role behind the wheel. The two
instructions I specifically remember: Wave and smile at every person
and vehicle, and don't drive under any low-hanging tree branches. Got
it!
Rules stated and received, we mounted
up and headed out on the highway.
Me at the wheel preparing to embark. |
Despite this vehicle's size, it wasn't
difficult to drive. An uber-high seating position provided excellent
visibility down the road. Mastering the use of the rearview cameras
required a bit of time, but otherwise, no worries.
What was tough was the smiling and
waving. After two hours of zipping around in this contraption my
right arm felt like lead and my face hurt. Only a kid could possibly
do this for eight or ten hours a day without requiring an
emergency-room visit.
It was a great day, however! After
cruising back into our starting point and dismounting, the crew gave
me a small orange traffic cone they had all signed. Each signature
accompanied by a little saying like, “You cut the mustard” and
“You're top dog.” The cone is long gone, but the memories aren't.
I have to say that with nearly 30 years
in the auto-journalism business under my belt, this was one of the
most unique experiences and best times I've had just doing my job.
Did Terry know about this when he hired you?
ReplyDeleteI don't think so, Paul. It was a youthful indiscretion.
ReplyDelete