DETROIT—After a rough night of partying, Pre-Recession GM woke up with a splitting headache and an extremely dry mouth.
After taking 2 Aspirin and drinking a quart of water, he checked his cellphone.
He had dozens of text and picture messages in his inbox. He opened the first text, from Saab.
“I fucking can’t believe you. How could you make something that weird and not tell me about it?” she continued, “And really? An SS version of the panel van too? NOBODY IS GOING TO FUCKING BUY THAT. I SHOULD’VE MADE IT. WE ARE DONE.”
GM rubbed his temples and deleted the message.
The next message was a picture from Pontiac.
“Dude! Sick party last night. I’ll send you that motor tomorrow morning.”
GM leaned over to the window and cracked his blinds, squinting at the bright daylight. On his doorstep was a large wooden crate. He looked back at his phone.
Attached to the message was a picure of GM and Pontiac, both extremely drunk sitting on a couch. Pontiac had one arm around GM and was pointing to a turbocharged Ecotec on the table in front of them.
He then received a text from Chevrolet as he finished reading Pontiac’s.
“Hey man, Pontiac said he sent that motor over. Saturn said he wants it too. I told him to fuck off. That kid is weird, I don’t like him. Anyway. Ill get working on that shit tomorrow.”
His roommate Cadillac then knocked on his door,
“Hey man are you good?”
“Shut the fuck up!” GM responded.
“Alright, thanks! Good morning!”
The rest of the messages were from Ford, Mercury, and other brands, talking about the party . Buick sent him a message saying Saab apparently hooked up with Subaru.
GM scratched his head and put a cigarette in his mouth.
“Whatever.” he said, leaning back in bed and staring at the ceiling.