pruthvishetty

Turns out — extremely different. It's not a car. It's a museum piece with wheels.

The anxiety over our car choice started to build six weeks before our trip. An email from the rental company popped into my inbox. "Introducing: Your Vintage Gas-Powered Sedan."

Two weeks later, another message arrived. "Are you ready for a blast from the past?"

Then another email: "It's time to explore the world of gasoline."

We read the emails, looked at gas station options, and when we picked up the vintage car in downtown Paris, we thought we were ready.

We were so wrong.

The vehicle had no touchscreen, no autopilot, no easy navigation system. There are several different models of gas cars, each more baffling than the last.

First of all, everything about this gas-powered sedan is a relic. Door handles? You just pull them. Simple? Yes. Primitive? Absolutely.

Instead of a centralized control system on a touchscreen, there were buttons and dials everywhere! Want to adjust the mirrors? Hope you're ready to wind the window down and manually push the mirrors around.

Driving for the first time was also a jolt. Where's my regenerative braking? The eerie silence of the road was replaced by the constant humming and occasional roar of an engine.

I looked for the rearview camera when reversing. Nope, you had to turn your head and use the actual mirrors – all manually adjusted, of course.

Man driving a gas car, you'd think the car's speed would be displayed on a central screen. Nope. And when you're driving, there's this giant meter showing you your speed. So quaint, with its actual physical needles and dials.

The "frunk" I was used to? Gone. Replaced with this thing they call an "engine." It's hot, loud, and honestly, seems very inefficient.

The dashboard had all these tiny controls, so I assumed the hazard lights would be there. Nope, they were hidden somewhere on the central column. Took me ages to find.

Fueling this beast wasn't any easier.

Gas stations were spread out, and the process? Oh boy. You had to stand outside, fill the tank with this liquid they call "petrol" or "gasoline," and it smells! Charging at a Tesla Supercharger never made me reek of gasoline.

A gas pump. Filling up took longer than expected, and there was no automatic billing. But for someone used to a high-tech, silent Tesla back in California, this gas car's quirks were infuriating.

It didn’t have lane assist. It didn't slow down or accelerate on its own when needed. There were no warnings when someone was in your blind spot. It just... drove.

A few days in, I had to keep checking the fuel levels. No notifications, no automatic routing to the nearest fuel station. It was a guessing game.

Every time we turned it on, there were no instant software updates, no interface personalizations, just an ignition key and the rumble of the engine.

And how do the many people that own gas cars feel about all of this? Well, it seems from a quick glance online, they're nostalgically attached. They share videos like "10 Tricks to Boost Your MPG" and "Manual Transmission Tips."

I am all for reminiscing about the old times, but I guess I'm new school. No fumes. No noise. No manual transmissions.

I just want to drive my Tesla.

Built it during grad school. Maintaining it now as a side project (and journal) or sorts.