Whose Car Are You Driving?
By Abbey Algiers
I ask this, because in my house, this is a big topic of discussion. Actually, it’s not really discussion, because a discussion implies a back and forth type of banter. Rather, I’ve been talking about it… to my husband, parents, siblings, and actually anyone who stops long enough to listen. It’s been on my mind since the end of March, when I sold a car I loved for a car I should not be driving, for a multitude of reasons. As a result of this lapse in thinking, I am currently driving someone else’s car.
It is bad enough that I sold a car I loved. But, to sell a car, and then make a really poor financial decision… is especially traumatic. What happened? It went something like this.
On a cold Saturday afternoon in March, someone took over my body and actually signed paperwork that increased my monthly car payment by over $150. That mysterious interloper also left me convinced, for a brief moment in time, that I was doing the right thing.
Now, there are instances when the above transaction would be acceptable. For example, say I recently received a sizable raise at work. I got a six figure publishing deal. Or, I thoughtfully budgeted for a more expensive car and purchased something that I really, truly wanted and could not live without… my dream car, for example. Any of these would be acceptable reasons for what transpired on the afternoon of March 13 at approximately 3:48 p.m., just 72 minutes before the dealership closed for the weekend. I purchased a new vehicle in such a frenzy one would have thought I was purchasing the last car on the face of the earth.
To understand the above, it’s necessary to examine the process of getting a new car in general, and then more specifically for “someone like me.” First, a decision is made to lease or buy. If one decides to purchase, then the question is new or used. This is the bottom of the car-buying pyramid, and based on the person, the purchase can proceed to be as simple or as complicated from that point on. For drivers who see their cars as a means to get from point A to point B, car purchases are few and far between, and therefore may take longer to make. But, in the long run, this person does end up in a good financial position, driving a car they like.
Then there’s a car owner like me, someone who adores cars and really looks for any excuse to buy, sell, or trade. Flat tire? Small dent on fender that barely chips the paint? Side mirror broken in garage mishap? All of these situations at least bring up the notion of trading in my mind. Low on washer fluid? This too could do it. For this affliction, I blame genetics. Growing up, I am pretty sure my dad traded his car every single year. My uncle has been known to go out for an oil change and come back with a new car. The problem I am facing right now is not my fault… my DNA is responsible for my actions. You see, I think of my car as more than a means of transportation… I see it as an extension of my identity. When I get into my car, I like it to feel like me. It doesn’t need to be expensive- it just needs to be something I feel comfortable in. People like me are why car dealers stay in business.
To illustrate this, might I give a summary of my car purchases post-college. My first car was a white Toyota Paseo. It was stick shift, which I thought was cool at the time, even though I had never driven stick before. Therefore, I didn’t even test-drive it on the lot, because I couldn’t drive it. My dad test-drove it, for crying out loud. At the time, all I knew was that I wanted to buy it because, first of all, it was white, and white was my favorite car color. #2 – It looked sporty. Finally, it had an AM/FM radio AND cassette player… far surpassing my college 1980 Chevette that had an AM radio and reeked of smoke. Who needed Consumer Reports when I had reasons 1-2-and 3 to support my purchase?
Well, that little baby saw me through the first years of my first job as well as the first years of my marriage. I loved that car until talk of starting a family swirled around the dinner table. Coincidentally, this was about the same time that a VERY cool new Subaru Outback Wagon was brought on the scene, and to this day, I’m not sure what came first- thoughts of babies, or thoughts of a new, cool car to cart them around in. This car came complete with cozy, heated, polar fleece seats, and an AM/FM radio with a CD player. Can you say “moving on up?” And, again… the car was white. Done deal.
Then, just as sometimes rust attacks cars, unfortunately, rust began to creep in on my marriage. My then-husband and I stopped talking kids, and began to question instead whether anniversaries would be in our future. Besides feeling the pain of this impending break up, I realized something almost more traumatic. I might be a divorcee who had…a station wagon. There was NO WAY IN HELL (I gently told my husband one night) that I was going to be driving a STATION WAGON if we were not going to be married. Station wagons were for married people… and if that wasn’t me, well that wasn’t going to be my car.
Enter the new VW Bug, the “Beetle” of the 90’s, which came out just about the same time my marriage was headed for the used car lot. I had wanted a Bug for as long as I could remember. Though I wasn’t sure at the time whether my marriage would make it, I was sure that I needed that car. So… my husband and I went shopping for the “all I know is that I can’t drive my wagon and I need a Bug” purchase. Since nothing was set in stone regarding our marriage, I obliged my husband when he asked that I get a color that he’d at least look “not completely girly” driving. We settled on a navy Beetle.
Nonetheless, I was driving a car that I felt properly defined my life situation and me. My car did not say “family.” It said “fun.” “Zippy.” It said, here is a girl with a cool car. Period. I loved that car.
Then, enter the divorce. I still loved that car, but secretly regretted not taking a stand and getting a color I wanted. I realized there were famines and wars, sicknesses and real problems happening all over the world at the same time that car color was occupying my mind. And yes, I knew that compared to these conditions, car color was quite insignificant. So I shut it out of my mind.
God must have been on my side, because, due to an engine failure, coupled with an owner failure (I left the sunroof open during a rainstorm), I was left with a nonfunctioning car and the need to trade.
In a true, “I am woman hear me roar moment” I managed to get myself a fabulous deal ($115/month) for another Beetle that I picked based on the fact that it matched the nail polish I was wearing that day (“My Chihuahua Bites” by OPI). I zipped around in my car like a 7th grade girl zips around in her first pair of heels. I was thrilled. I loved that car.
In hindsight, it’s sometimes difficult to remember exactly what event put me in the dealership prior to each of my car purchases. Having bought my second Bug based on a nail polish color, one would think I’d have been set in those wheels for life. I think, however, that a worn out clutch sent me to the VW garage, and consequently its nearby showroom. Because nearly everyone in the dealership knew me, or knew of me by this point, a salesman latched onto me in the waiting room. Did I want to take a look around the showroom while they checked out my car?
By the time I had seen about three fabulous potential replacements for my car, the mechanic came out to tell me that for just $1200, my car would be as good as new. A light bulb went on in my head. I turned my new best friend and salesman to ask, “If I trade, I don’t have to pay for the repair, right?” The solution seemed to be a no brainer.
I had strict guidelines for my next purchase though. The car had to be under $230/month… and it had to be a VW, namely because this was the only car in the dealership I thought I could afford that was to my liking. I test drove several VW Jettas, as these felt like a logical step up for someone now in her early 30’s. Perhaps I was outgrowing the Beetle. Then my salesman asked, “What about a Saab? Why don’t you just test that red one out?” Not believing I could ever afford it, I said yes, thinking it’d be the only shot I’d have at driving one. I loved it, and thanks to some miracle with my salesman’s calculator and the trade department’s quote… I was able to buy the Saab. For $234 a month. I loved, worshiped, and adored that car.
This is what I was in, until just a few months ago, on that blistery day in March. Only I was in a new situation- I was driving a car that had passed its three-year warranty. This had never happened to me before. I didn’t quite know what to do, without the guarantee that the dealership would fix anything that went wrong with my car, and offer me a free loaner when I had an oil change or routine work scheduled. Would I need to… pay for repairs? Replace tires? And brakes? All of these things were too much for my frequent trader mind to grasp onto.
Enter the frenzied trip to the dealership and the subsequent purchase.
What was that purchase? It was a mistake of gargantuan proportions. Note that it is a fine car, with a beautiful leather interior and a fabulous sound system. There is nothing wrong with this car. It’s just that it doesn’t suit me. The frame that cries Nascar meets Matchbox, with its hatchback spoiler, is something I never imagined myself driving. The problem with this car, you see, is that the wrong name appears on the title. The title should tout Kyle’s name. Who is Kyle you may wonder?
Kyle is 22 years old and lives in the newly remodeled basement of his parents’ house. It’s actually quite a great set up, because his parents travel often, giving him pretty much 100% use of the house, that happens to be on a lake. Which is also great, because Kyle and his friends are really into their water skiing and wave runners. In addition, Kyle has a lot of parties during the summer, and his car is the perfect size to zip into town on beer runs. After all, it’s not a huge car, but the hatchback conveniently fits a keg and ice. Kyle also appreciates the fuel efficiency of his car, which takes him on a 30-minute commute to his job at a marina. He doesn’t mind the drive, because his car has an excellent sound system; on which he can blast songs provided to him by his high school sweetheart. Stephanie. He also doesn’t mind the drive because his job pays “good money” which he needs, since Stephanie is expecting a ring soon. He’ll need to save for a ring and a place of his own. Thank goodness Kyle’s dad paid for half of his car; at least he doesn’t have a huge car payment.
So, there you have it. Every day, when I sit down behind the wheel of my car, I check the back seat to see if Kyle is there, waiting, to demand I return his keys. For once in my life, my car does not match my identity one bit. And, perhaps this is the true reason behind my discontent with my car. In addition to its hefty price tag and representation of the fact that I let go of something I really liked… it is like wearing someone else’s clothes every single day.
Yet, I am learning to live with Kyle’s car. It’s not easy, but I am doing it and will do so until I can come up with a plan to get his car back to him and find a car that feels like me. So…if anyone reading this sees Kyle, please tell him that there’s a sweet deal waiting for him. Just give me a call.
Whose Car Are You Driving?
By Abbey Algiers
Copyright 2010
