So the car.
On Saturday morning, Esteban and I woke up early and proceeded to empty the remnants of the last four years of my life from the Monte. The trunk’ was a nightmare. Seriously. Quilting things, many roving golf balls of various girly shades, some very disturbing things from Stuckey’s that have been in there since our trip to Atlanta last year. Everything. There are so many things that we track in photo albums and journals about our lives, but honestly, life’s clutter can tell so much more.
I, of course, was verklempt. I purposely left my blank check on the dishwasher so that I wouldn’t be forced to make any kind of decisions. I wanted to spend some quality good bye time with the Monte. I wanted to make the run up my ‘thinking road’ along the east shoreline of the Bay. I wanted to crank up the stereo and roll the windows down and sing at the top of my lungs to the B-52’s. One more time. Just one more time. Like a Cure song, baby.
But no. Esteban is a man about the future. He does not have time to dally with nostalgia. Especially when there was a new vehicle to purchase, new debt to incur. He made us go back and get the blank check off the dishwasher and “stop screwing around.” Of course, this is the difference between our decision making processes. Esteban is a leaper, ready to dive in at a moment’s notice. I am a marinator. I have to decide to do something and before that, I often have to decide to make a decision or not. My marination time dramatically reduced, I explained to him my Dicker strategy for the Volvo , which was that I had a dollar amount that I wanted to spend, no more than that, and if Michelle could make it happen however she needed to, I would sign over the check and happily be on my way with a sparkly Volvo. Also, Esteban wanted to try a little Saab they also had in the lot. Wook at Esteban, trying all the foreign cars, just like a little man! Seriously, though, be very impressed, as when I first met the man, he was wearing a jacket with a big ‘Heartbeat of America’ Chevy emblem on the back. And yet we are together. Proof that true love can beat even insurmountable odds.
We got to the lot. Michelle wasn’t there. In her place, a tiny little salesman-lette named Cubby or something. I suspect he was a boy scout trying to get a badge for career day or something. We took the Volvo out again for a test drive, opened the trunk, tested the CD player with one of my favorite thumpy mix CDs. It was lovely. We liked. We drove back and were ready to talk prices. Esteban specifically lingered outside, talking with a man we later learned was the owner of the lot, while Cubby brought me inside to barter.
My heart was beating rapidly, as I proceeded to panic a little, afraid to say numbers and prices and do anything but be a meek little kitten who wants a pretty shiny new play thing. But then as soon as I started to talk, I remembered something. I tell people things they don’t want to hear at work every day. And I’m pretty good about it. I laid my case down in front of Cubby.
Cubby wasn’t happy. ‘Well’ I think you’ll find this is a very competitive price. And I’m giving you a good trade in for the Monte Carlo.’
‘That you are, but actually, I investigated the Blue Book value of the Volvo and found they think it’s worth about $1200 less than what you’ve got.’
‘But this is low miles.’
‘The blue book takes that into account.’
‘But this is in Wisconsin’ you’re not going to find a car like this with that low miles in Wisconsin.’
I pointed to the spot on my Blue Book print off which showed that it took the zip code into account. And then I laid it down on the line. ‘Look, I have my financing set up and I know what I want my payment to be. With my trade in and tax, title and license, it puts me at $1600 over what I want that to be. According to blue book, list should be $1200 less than you’ve got it. And that’s list price. I could easily sell the Monte in the paper for $2000 more than you’re willing to give me, but I just don’t want to deal with that. If you can make it match my number, you’ll essentially have an easy cash sale this morning.’
‘Well’ if you sell it through the paper, then you’ll have to pay tax on that extra amount.’
‘Are you telling me that by making an extra $2000 on the resale, I wouldn’t be better off because I’d have to pay an extra two hundred dollars to the state? That doesn’t seem very logical.’
Just then, a tiny little yellow finch smacked into the plate glass windows right next to where we were sitting, and then sat up, peeped, and shook its head, stunned. I was horrified.
‘A bird just hit the window. At a hundred miles an hour.’
‘Yeah’ they do that lots.’
Cubby was Satan.
‘Well’ this is a very good price. You can’t find another dealer who has a Volvo with this low mileage and at this price with those features.’
‘Oh I beg to differ. I’m not in any hurry to purchase a car, and my blank check is good for another 45 days. And if I can always extend it. If I don’t find the car I want for the price I’m willing to pay to you, I’ll simply find it from someone else.’
‘Let me go talk to my manager.’ Cubby walked outside without even looking at the little bird who was most likely trying to figure out what exactly he was. Was he a salamander? A newt? What was that ringing in his ears? I watched Cubby talk to the manager for a bit, the manager nodding and waving his hand at him, and then Cubby came back inside.
‘We’re willing to come down $250.’
‘Hmmm’. That’s not good enough. You’re still way above Kelly Blue Book. Here’s my card’ call me if the car comes down in price.’ I decided that the finch smacking into the window had been a warning… nay, a PORTENT, to not proceed any further. I gave him my card and walked out the door.
Esteban was very surprised when I opened the door to the Monte and got in, but he followed. I explained what had gone down and how I wanted to cave in, knowing quite well that I had the full ability to meet his price head on. Esteban snorted that the $250 concession was really a slap in the face, so just fuck ’em. And apparently, when Cubby had come out to talk to the manager, it sounded to Esteban as though the manager told Cubby to ‘make it happen’ and give me what I wanted. And then when the manager came back to talk to Esteban, he commented, ‘Your wife is beating up my boy in there.’
Heeee! Apparently, I didn’t need the Wizard. I had the ability to grow a pair of balls all along.
The plan was to get lunch and then go back home and start cleaning out Computer Room #2 for the impending renovation, but on a whim, we opted to check into two little dealerships way out in the country. And then I realized that I left my thumpy mix CD in the Volvo, which angered me even more so we drove to the little burg, shouting ‘Fuck ’em!’ and ‘Volvo fascists’ to anyone who would listen. I declared that on Monday, Michelle would find out about how Cubby screwed up a sale and make him call back and apologize. And then I’d tell him that I would think about it. And then make him wait until next weekend.
And that’s when I decided to hell with Volvo’s and portents of danger and bought a very shiny Chrysler 300M with everything I wanted and more.
Our country car guy, Jerry, was very cool and collected. He hinted around to find out what we did for a living and when Esteban said that we already had arranged financing, Jerry did everything but throw his jacket over errant puddles. He mentioned that we had a certain assuredness that he could tell right away that we meant business but we weren’t desperate for a car. I wasn’t saying very much because I wasn’t impressed with most of his inventory, but for one lovely silver Chrysler 300M that was too new and 11K more than I wanted to pay. I didn’t really say anything because I knew already that Esteban didn’t trust the Chryslers and had them on his ‘Approach With Caution’ list, but then Esteban spotted a black 300M which had low miles, was relatively new, and was 4K less than the Volvo. He wanted to test drive it. I did not argue, because I like the 300M’s. Always have. Even though they have Celine Dion as their spokesairhead. I like the outside. I like the inside, and aside from the first one we tested way back which had something wrong with the steering, I liked driving them. And this one had everything. Power moon roof/sunroof. Heated seats. Leather interior. 4 Disc changer and tape deck (for the distinguished Amish driver, I’m guessing). 3.5 L engine (for the record, the Monte was 3.4L). A trunk that would fit five bodies. An idiot gauge that tells me which direction I’m going, how cold it is outside, how warm it is inside, how many miles I can go on the gas I have left, and how many miles to the gallon I’m currently getting. It turns my lights on and off automatically. It remembers the seat position for Esteban and for me. It has some kind of magical spell put on the rearview mirror so that cars behind you cannot blind you with their headlights. Everything. Including enough space to fit Esteban’s gigantic melon.
‘Buy it.’ Esteban said.
‘I thought you didn’t&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9- I began.
‘If you like this car, buy it. I like this one better than the Volvo. It rides better, it honestly looks a hundred percent nicer, and it’s closer to what I wanted to pay for a car. You wanted a 300M from the first time we went car shopping. If you want this car, then buy it.’
So I did.
The negotiations were easy. The car was already on sale because the 2004’s are coming out which devalues the older model years. They were willing to give me a mediocre trade in for the Monte. I looked at the price and raised my eyebrow. Apparently, I have a very powerful eyebrow, as without a word, he gave me an extra $500, bringing me to what I expected from a dealer. After many signatures and a melancholy last look at the Monte, I drove off in my shiny pretty 300M.
After that, of course, all thoughts of tearing out Computer Room 2 were for naught. We were famished at that point, so Esteban asked where I wanted to eat. I suggested Fuego Del Choa, the closest location being in Chicago. He countered with Outback Steakhouse, which is in Appleton and we proceeded to happily look up features in the owner’s manual and play with the 4 disc changer and adjust the seats just so and have the roof open even though it was a brisk 60 degrees at 70 mph.
And I love it. I just love it. It gives me a little jump in my stomach when I walk out and there is the 300M sitting there, waiting for me. I am, however, a little bit afraid of what this means about the direction of my political affinities. I quickly eschewed a Volvo, something I grew up with, something that perfectly balanced my down to earth Hippyness with my love of life’s finer things, when a Chrysler was dangled before my nose. As Jake commented, there should be a welcome note from John Ashcroft arriving at my home any day now. I mean, not that I often attend many hippy functions, but what is going to happen when I pull up to a Greenpeace meeting? Will I be shunned for buying into the Man? Will I walk up and everyone will stop talking? Should I burn some hemp inside the car and expunge the ghost of Lee Ioccoca? I’ve been driving around wearing my Birkenstocks and listening to James Taylor in an almost pathetic attempt at maintaining my identity, but yesterday, while driving through a poorer section of town, I found myself thinking ‘You know, they really don’t have much to complain about.’ I’d put an Amnesty International sticker on the car as a totem against the shift to the right, but I’m afraid that the car might somehow alter it and I’ll wake up and find it has changed to something else entirely. Like one of those fish or maybe Abortionists Deserve To Die or something. It’s only a matter of time before I’m voting Republican and possibly clubbing baby seals for a steering wheel cover.
But then I think about how pretty my car is and don’t really think about anything else.
Seriously. Pretty. Shiny. Likey.
Apparently bleeding heart liberals are really just raccoons in disguise.
