1982
The story starts, as it must, with a malaise era General Motors product. Called by some the worst car produced in the last half of the twentieth century, my first car was a 1980 Chevrolet Citation. Mine was silver with a burgundy interior and an AM/FM radio. Bench seats, column automatic shift. It had two keys, because GM couldn't be bothered to re-machine such that the door keys and the ignition keys were the same.
Purchased a new, it was from a Chevrolet dealer on West Ponce de Leon in Decatur, Georgia. ("Pawnse," please, not "Pohnsay.") Whitewall tires. I wrecked it not long after I got it. Badly. Then again a bit later. A terrible car made worse.
1980 Chevy Citation;
Or the beginning of the journey
(Not the actual car or color)
2013
The floaty Enterprise rental Dodge Avenger pillows it's way down the 101. I switch from NPR to K-EARTH 101 "Los Anngeeless." I've just picked the Avenger up from the BMW dealer. The new/used BMW I bought a week ago sits in the shop for the second time in four days. Its USB port doesn't work. I need podcasts. Desperately. Without it, I can't bring myself to sort out anything but NPR and K-EARTH. The greatest hits of the 60s, 70s, and 80s. "I miss the earth so much. I miss my wife..."
I grip the Dodge's nylon wheel. It shifts slightly side to
side. I hardly feel it. I pilot it into a barely adequate space in
my work parking lot. I remember that Enterprise guy said that anything
smaller than a golf ball sized dent is fine. I don’t worry about it being
squeezed between a truck and a minivan on the far side of the parking lot where
the last of the earthquake trailers still hulk 19 years after the quake.
Not a good "MINI space" as my honey calls them. Those are
end spaces where her hot little coupe won't get dinged. The Avenger is
afforded no such love. I lock it and don't look back as I walk away.
I hope in my deepest heart that the return of the Dodge to
Enterprise within the next seventy-two hours will end my wandering in the car
wilderness, at least for a while. It's been a long journey.
Later that morning, I'm sitting across from the dean of sciences in
a meeting. He does his own mechanic
work. When I torpedoed my Saturn Vue in 2006, he asked why in a way that
made me feel like I had been hasty and was being judged. I made some noise
about mechanical issues. There wasn't anything wrong with the Saturn
mechanically. It was just a big plastic mess with uncomfortable seats.
Its best feature was the ability to throw my bicycles in its gaping rear.
2007
I swapped the Vue for a Toyota FJ, which had the same bike benefit. The FJ had two faults. Suicide doors made rear seat ingress difficult. Like push up on your mother's butt difficult. Egress was fine. Gravity helps you fall out of any SUV. The FJ also featured the box of death. Open both front and rear doors and you were trapped by the car next to you. On the upside it was a giant box that looked like a Tonka truck.
I swapped the Vue for a Toyota FJ, which had the same bike benefit. The FJ had two faults. Suicide doors made rear seat ingress difficult. Like push up on your mother's butt difficult. Egress was fine. Gravity helps you fall out of any SUV. The FJ also featured the box of death. Open both front and rear doors and you were trapped by the car next to you. On the upside it was a giant box that looked like a Tonka truck.
It also got poor gas mileage. And I owned it when gas prices
jumped. So I bought a scooter for too much money. I
sold the scooter at a loss when I realized I had to talk myself into riding it.
(Actual FJ in question)
It's a wilderness with machines of internal combustion.
(Not actual Sentra)
1988
One college 23rd of December, I was traveling south on I-85. The car started putting. It finally died right outside Durham North Carolina. Family friends, a nice tow driver, a Pep Boys open on Christmas Eve, and a new alternator later, I was back on the road. Upon arrival home, the now revived Datsun (Nissan) Sentra was no longer trusted by parents. A new car was to be found.
A teal Plymouth Colt E. The E is awesome. It includes a light bar and a 5 speed manual. I loop it around and around the childhood block. Stalling the manual on the hill. And stalling it on the hill. Until I get it. I head back to DC and then skiing. The Colt does well. It goes through the snow, I refill the washer fluid. Don't stall it often, even up the mountains of the east. (Then I did not know about the mountains of the west. Bumps, really, those eastern ones. Rounds bumps). Skiing goes fine. I fall a lot, but I have on plastic pants.
One college 23rd of December, I was traveling south on I-85. The car started putting. It finally died right outside Durham North Carolina. Family friends, a nice tow driver, a Pep Boys open on Christmas Eve, and a new alternator later, I was back on the road. Upon arrival home, the now revived Datsun (Nissan) Sentra was no longer trusted by parents. A new car was to be found.
A teal Plymouth Colt E. The E is awesome. It includes a light bar and a 5 speed manual. I loop it around and around the childhood block. Stalling the manual on the hill. And stalling it on the hill. Until I get it. I head back to DC and then skiing. The Colt does well. It goes through the snow, I refill the washer fluid. Don't stall it often, even up the mountains of the east. (Then I did not know about the mountains of the west. Bumps, really, those eastern ones. Rounds bumps). Skiing goes fine. I fall a lot, but I have on plastic pants.
The Colt is admirable. It starts. It runs. It has that light bar.
Friends buy them because they like mine.
It's solid. A couple of friends buy non-E Colts. They don’t
have the light bar. Or the fifth
gear. I feel superior. The teal is
so awesomely 80s. It's ok, though. It is the 80s. We are all
forgiven for being of the 80s in the 80s.
(Not actual Colt, but teal one)
I put a pro-choice sticker on it and some dodo at the Chrysler
dealer writes a hostile note. Then I'm offered a parental Camry.
Not offered. Insisted. And so the Colt it sold. A nice woman
who totaled her Colt buys mine.
1992
The Camry accompanies me across the country east to west stuffed full of stuff and a dog. Somewhere in West Texas, I am so hot I try to fill up its freon at a service station. There's no loss of freon. It's just that hot in West Texas.
The Camry accompanies me across the country east to west stuffed full of stuff and a dog. Somewhere in West Texas, I am so hot I try to fill up its freon at a service station. There's no loss of freon. It's just that hot in West Texas.
(Not actual Camry, not baby shit brown)
2009
Diesel! My friend Bryan wants a diesel VW. I have misleading thoughts about the Passat that I let go some years before. I loved the Passat, I think. I forget about the fuel pump. And the phantom sunroof that opened and closed of its own accord. And the power mirrors that needed to be pulled up by hand. And and and.
Diesel! My friend Bryan wants a diesel VW. I have misleading thoughts about the Passat that I let go some years before. I loved the Passat, I think. I forget about the fuel pump. And the phantom sunroof that opened and closed of its own accord. And the power mirrors that needed to be pulled up by hand. And and and.
I'll order a diesel Golf from a sales dude on VW Vortex in the OC.
Light blue. My concern is the transmission. It's a six speed.
It makes me nervous. I ask the sales guy if I can drive a different
six speed to make sure. I don't know why I'm nervous. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
+ 1 = 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. How hard it that? One more gear.
Ratios a little different. Hand moves down and away from me for the
last shift instead of up and away from me.
Sales dude wheels around a 2010 GTI. It's black with a plaid
interior. Has a sunroof and the up stereo. I drive off with sales
dude. The turbo kicks in. I rev. He actually gasps a
little. I decide I’m in love. With the car, not sales dude.
I cancel the diesel. Buy the GTI. That one. A
black one. With the plaid. Sales dude offers me a solid offer on
the FJ. Sight unseen. What I don't know is that the FJ holds its
value better than any current car. The thing sits and looks like a Tonka
truck with its box of death and mother butt pushing back seat and makes money
every day relative to every other car. I hand over the keys and forget to
remove my UCLA plate surround. I still miss it. The surround.
The FJ I regret only because I should have made more money. Imagine, a used car that doesn’t lose money. I had no idea.
I point the GTI up the 57 toward home. Halfway there and I am in a panic. I don't like the car. It's too small.
I can't get comfortable. Shit. I stop at Baja Fresh to get a
burrito. Think about telling honey. California has no cooling off
period. I've cooled off. And it's my car. So I'll not say
anything.
Every day I get in the car. I wiggle around. The car is
super fun to drive. I look like a boy racer. The stereo is good.
The plaid is cool. Oh and it has electronic gremlins.
Volkswagen of Van Nuys gets to know me. I drive it to San Francisco
and enjoy it. I drive it to Denver. It's pleasant enough. I
tweak the seats. A couple of times I find the perfect setting for seats.
Then it has to go back to the shop because the gremlins ate some wire and
the dealership dudes mess up the seats. I can't get it back. It's like the shadows on the wall. I know the ideal exists, but just the right twist of the
wrist eludes me.
Then it starts to backfire. VW fixes something in the exhaust.
36 hours after that, it backfires again and starts spewing smoke. A
cyclist waves his hand in front of his face as if I want the smoke to pour out
and choke him. VW has it multiple days. Doesn't offer a loaner.
Charges me the extended warranty deductible. Says the fuel
injectors aren't part of the powertrain. The car has no power when two of
them go out. But it's not powertrain.
(Actual GTI. Proof? Actual writer in picture)
2012
I text my friend Irene. She works for Honda. We talk car choices. Honey says I should lease. I'm a car swinger she says.
I text my friend Irene. She works for Honda. We talk car choices. Honey says I should lease. I'm a car swinger she says.
A lease! A lease. The GTI must go away. That I
know.
I don't trust it. The seat seems worse than ever.
1993
The baby shit colored Camry was hot in West Texas. One Friday I was reading the paper and looking at the car ads. There's a "special" Toyota Paseo at Santa Monica Toyota. I go look at it. Commit to buy. It's teal. In the 90s that's much less defensible. Much. But I still miss the Colt. The dog is a basenji. I got her because my first basenji died while I was in college. I am making up. My dad was the catalyst for the dog going; my mom for the car. I'm driving down Wilshire. The dog's hair is getting in the upholstery. I start yelling at her. Why am I yelling at the dog for having hair? She's a dog. They have hair. I'm young and on the wrong coast and pre-adult therapy. So, I say now to the universe: I'm sorry I yelled at her. I'm sorry I exacerbated her neuroses. It's a good thing I don't have kids. They have hair.
The baby shit colored Camry was hot in West Texas. One Friday I was reading the paper and looking at the car ads. There's a "special" Toyota Paseo at Santa Monica Toyota. I go look at it. Commit to buy. It's teal. In the 90s that's much less defensible. Much. But I still miss the Colt. The dog is a basenji. I got her because my first basenji died while I was in college. I am making up. My dad was the catalyst for the dog going; my mom for the car. I'm driving down Wilshire. The dog's hair is getting in the upholstery. I start yelling at her. Why am I yelling at the dog for having hair? She's a dog. They have hair. I'm young and on the wrong coast and pre-adult therapy. So, I say now to the universe: I'm sorry I yelled at her. I'm sorry I exacerbated her neuroses. It's a good thing I don't have kids. They have hair.
I keep the Paseo for a good long time. It gives me little
trouble. It stays teal the whole time.
(Not actual Paseo. Teal, though)
1998
I trade the Paseo for the vaunted Passat. The undeservingly vaunted Passat. Honey sees the Paseo shortly after I trade it. It has on a car bra. The Paseo has a name. We starts calling out, "Patty with a bra on" in plaintive ways. I never see Patty again, though. Bra or no.
I trade the Paseo for the vaunted Passat. The undeservingly vaunted Passat. Honey sees the Paseo shortly after I trade it. It has on a car bra. The Paseo has a name. We starts calling out, "Patty with a bra on" in plaintive ways. I never see Patty again, though. Bra or no.
2002
The Passat was the Colt redux. I loved it. And then a parental Audi was on offer. And so I sold it to a nice musician guy who got a
bunch of parking tickets after he got it. The Audi arrived on a truck
from Chicago. The truck driver parked in the Norm's parking lot where the
pumpkin patch and tree farm live during the fall and winter.
(Not actual Passat. Correct color)
Fuel pumps. Timing belts. It was fabulously black and
leathery. A car that wasn't mine, but was mine. A truck with frozen
things (not cars) hits it in the McDonalds parking lot. I shouldn't have
been at McDonalds. I missed teaching class. I never got my
McMuffin. I've not had one since.
I had a fight with Audi about the fuel pump, arguing that I had already replaced it. I hadn't. I had replaced the one in the Passat. The Volkswagen/Audi group products all ran together in my mind.
(Not actual Audi)
2003
Honey bought a Saturn. A few months later, I did too. A big blue plastic piece of shit. It won't be the last time I slink down the car buying road after honey.
Honey bought a Saturn. A few months later, I did too. A big blue plastic piece of shit. It won't be the last time I slink down the car buying road after honey.
(Not actual Vue. Horrifying blue is accurate.)
I'm a good public speaker. I'm persuasive. I can sort
out the reason to buy any car any time I want. There is no authenticity
to it. It's paper mâché King Tut's tomb at the Luxor in Las Vegas.
Chicken wire and paste painted gold. A big blue plastic car.
2012
I pull the GTI into the BMW/MINI dealer. They've got a lease offer on a Countryman--the big MINI which honey calls a "medium." I like the way it drives. The front seats are comfortable. The "utility" of the vehicle is suspect. It's got a rail running down the center. When you fold down the seats, there's no utility. The one on offer is a weird pukey brown color. I drag Honey next door after to look at an Acura.
I pull the GTI into the BMW/MINI dealer. They've got a lease offer on a Countryman--the big MINI which honey calls a "medium." I like the way it drives. The front seats are comfortable. The "utility" of the vehicle is suspect. It's got a rail running down the center. When you fold down the seats, there's no utility. The one on offer is a weird pukey brown color. I drag Honey next door after to look at an Acura.
The website said they had manual TSXs in red and white. The
white one is gone. Traded away. They bring up the red one.
It's dirty. Slicky smelly salesdude won't shut up about how much he
loves his TSX. I ask questions he can't answer.
He answers by talking more about his car. I ask another
question. He can't answer it either.
We get back to the dealership and he gets out the four-square sheet.
Just a car tip from someone who has bought too many: if someone brings
out a four square sheet, leave. Quickly.
We leave. Manager follows us and asks what's wrong. I
tell him.
Unbelievably, I lease the car anyway. Why? I don't know.
Honda friend maybe. The seats are comfortable. Car online
boards like this car.
It's a Honda, I think. No black smoke will pour forth from it.
It will last forever. Except that it's a lease, so that doesn't
matter.
Honey wants me to keep looking. I don't. I lease the red
one. I don't like red cars. It's got a great transmission.
The seats are comfortable. The stereo works well. Not as well
as the veedub's. I settle in for my 36 months.
(Actual TSX. So very red. At old house.)
2011
When Honey was unemployed, after the bad times and during the emergence to better, her orange Saturn started whining. It was the transmission.
When Honey was unemployed, after the bad times and during the emergence to better, her orange Saturn started whining. It was the transmission.
Unbeknownst to us, GM knew about the problem. Settled.
Then declared bankruptcy. Now, post bankruptcy, we could pay
to get the diagnosis that the transmission didn't work. The not working
wasn't enough. We had to pay to prove it. Then we could buy a
Cruze. Honey drives one. The manual is terrible.
We almost buy a Kia. We go in to buy it. And there's no
one there. Literally. The Subaru dealer next door has a hostile
attitude about it. Lonely Kias sit
unbought.
We leave. Another day we might buy a Kia. Or not.
Then, while Honey is making salad, I find a brown MINI Cooper.
It has one feature--brownness. That's a $500 up charge. We
buy it.
(Actual brown MINI)
It's a nice little car. Anemic--with great gas mileage--and
the stereo is terrible.
MINI comes out with the coupe. Honey loves the coupe.
I try to get her to buy it once she has a job. She
won't.
We move. Make money on the house. We tuck into buying. A
tv. A sound bar to go with it. A black box that does digital music.
Another black box that hold the music. Speakers. A new amp.
2013
The Cooper's battery dies. Honey test drives (at my very strong urging) a demo coupe. They're going to stop making them. It has everything. Up stereo. Auto fold mirrors. Heated seats.
The Cooper's battery dies. Honey test drives (at my very strong urging) a demo coupe. They're going to stop making them. It has everything. Up stereo. Auto fold mirrors. Heated seats.
She buys it.
(Actual MINI Coupe and actual TSX. Note that TSX is not less red at new house)
I start looking at whether I can get out of my lease. Why?
I don't know.
I find a BMW at Carmax. It ticks all my boxes. Good color.
Manual. Leather. Sportline. Low mileage. $17k
less than new.
I make charts. Cars I've owned. Stuff I've collected.
Money thrown into a hole. Darkness and self-doubt filled with
stupid stuff.
Honey calls me a car swinger. She's right. Less than
three years is my average. Even with the Paseo (5+ years) and the Audi (less
than one) thrown out. After I share it with Honey, she asks. What
does this mean? Do you want the BMW or not? I don't know. I
do know that for the first time ever, my excitement is there, but not out of
control. That rush of excitement. It's bad for my brain. I
don't feel that way now. I feel like I may have found the right car.
Great to drive. Carries four people. Not brand new, so
that if there's a little scratch, I'll be ok.
I've told my therapist that I wanted to buy a new car. Then I
told her that I won't. So now I'm worried about showing up with it.
A switch in my brain flips. I unsubscribe from all my online
shoppings. All of them.
I promise Honey to be more responsible. I put more money into
the joint account. Pay my therapist more. Feel bad about not paying
her more for a bit. We pay off my Amex. I cancel one Amex.
Get a Visa instead. It's still not activated. That's good, I
think.
I'm not 100%. I back two (three?) more Kickstarters. I return some stuff to The
Clymb. They don't do refunds. Just credit. So more shoes are coming. I want to sell another bag. I can't sort out which one.
Maybe I should sell a watch. Honey asks if I regret the watches.
I say no. I mostly mean it.
I worry a little about the seat. It's comfortable but a little
hard to adjust. I find a couple of possibilities. I set the seat
memories to the two possibilities.
On the way to therapist's office, I drive fast. It's amazing.
I mean beyond amazing. A whole other level of car.
Three trips later to the dealership, the USB port is fixed. The $75 cable secured. I slip again. Buying shoes
at the BMW dealer. Shoes at the car dealer. Really? Yep.
There is a way in which one could argue that every Southern
Californian gets issued a BMW 3-series.
Preferably white, black, or silver.
Leased. Or bought by daddy. They epitomize ubiquity. 328, 335, 320, 330. If not a 3 series, what about an X1? A 528? Oh look a Z4. They are everywhere. A study has come out saying that BMW drivers are jerks.
No one will stop me (as they did with the FJ, as they do with Honey
and her MINI coupe) and ask about it.
It’s a silvery blue 328i. Like
every other 328i. Nothing special.
And yet every time I go out to get in it, I thrill. The balance.
The black kidneys. The thick
wheels. Every time I drive it, I feel
connected to driving. Not too fast. Traveling down Roscoe, I want the fuel
consumption gauge to swing up past 30.
Driving a back road, I don’t look at that gauge. Hit the apex, hold the line. Accelerate through. Trust the car.
No one approved or disapproved.
They did, I’m sure, but I don’t care. What I want is this car. For me.
For a long time. Not for it to be
perfect. I throw the dogs in the back
seat. Throw the bike in the back seat.
Honey worries about the bike. I scratched the Acura with the bike right before I got rid of it. I scratched the VUE with the bike. I scratched the FJ with the bike. I don't scratch the BMW (yet).
Honey worries about the bike. I scratched the Acura with the bike right before I got rid of it. I scratched the VUE with the bike. I scratched the FJ with the bike. I don't scratch the BMW (yet).
(Actual 328i at actual CarMax)
So, here I am with a car driven by jerks.
Yet, somehow it seems right. Where does happiness live? Not with the buying of things. Even big things. I haven't found it yet, but the silvery blue car will be what I want to try to get me there.
No comments:
Post a Comment