Today the following conversation took place between Meredith and I:
Man, if only I had waited to buy my new (to me) car! Imagine how sweet it would be to roll to work each day in a pinstriped Mustang GT? That’s me though; always jumping the gun.
As you may or may not recall, in an act that can only be described as sheer tyranny, Middle Brother decided to teach me some cosmic lesson by backing violently into my 10-year old Hyundai. And by that I mean he just wasn’t paying any attention. Still, many would argue that ignorance is merely a form of tyranny so, accident or not, my accusation stands.
Don’t worry though, he and his car made it through without a scratch. The universe works in mysterious ways.
Anyway, what with my car already being old and in need of some serious repairs before its face got smashed in, it came as no real surprise that the damage inflicted upon it made my poor Beast not worth the money it would take to get her back on he road.
It was a sad day. I wasn’t mad. I accepted it with a twinge of the heartache that I always feel when having to say goodbye to anything, material or otherwise, that has played a significant part in my life. This is especially true with vehicles. Vehicles take you to the places where you build your memories; they are an inanimate accomplice in the crime we call life and a sanctuary when all we need is a place to be quiet for a while (or to drown out our thoughts with loud bass and bad music. Or good music. Either way, sound system therapy).
I reflected – While the Hyundai wasn’t my first car, we certainly had our share of memories.
I got my first flat tire with that car (on the side of a busy 8-lane highway while speeding to a concert after arguing with my parents who totally didn’t want me to drive it to said concert and telling them “The car will be FINE! FRIG!” Yep… Good times). I also got my second flat tire with it but thankfully that was a significantly more humourous experience which I was much better prepared for. That car and I were run into a snowy ditch one winter (no harm, no fowl. It was actually pretty funny). For all its faults, that car was good to me. Still, when the powers that be speak, I do my best to heed and this was quite clearly a sign that it was time to let the ol’ girl finally have some rest.
And so began an agonizing few weeks of “car shopping”, an activity that I have decided is wholly over-rated and far too time-consuming (hense my extended absence). It sucked. Of course, a lot of that probably has to do with the fact that I couldn’t really afford to be getting a new car, but still, when you live nearly an hour from civilization, your only choice in pull up those big girl panties and ROLL.
Being immobile for the first time since I was 16 was incredibly frustrating (a feeling that was no doubt shared by anyone who wound up having to drive me around). My decision to bite the bullet and invest in a newer used car (granted, it’s not that new. I went with an off-lease 2006) instead of throwing away a few grand on another clunker caused a great deal of tension between Boyfriend and I (he thought like I should be holding off until I had finished paying off my credit card so I could get the new car I really wanted instead of settling for something else. I thought he was stupid and clearly incapable of understanding my situation. Or showing human emotion).
I spent days running around town and combing across the internet, trying to find the best deal only to end up losing the best deal and having to start all over again. I fought with Mom over colour and Dad over the make and model I chose. I lost sleep waiting to find out if my loan would be approved and prayed that I wouldn’t need a co-signer. I choked down the bitter pill that was my significantly higher insurance premium.
And then? When the smoke cleared?
I had my new car.
Everything worked out and, in the end, all the stress and frustration was totally worth it.
And you know what?
I’m actually glad it happened.
There’s the obvious benefit: I have a snazzy new car that I can be proud of and that I can rely on. Gone are the days that I had to cross my finger and hold my breath when I drove a few hours to visit friends. I don’t have to borrow someone else’s car when I go to the US and no longer have to engage in bloddy rounds of fisticuffs with anyone that dares insult my ride. It’s also a pretty sexy little number if I do say so myself, and there ain’t nothing wrong with that.
But really, it’s more than that. This is the first car I’ve ever bought myself and it’s the first time I’ve gone through the motions from start to finish alone.
My first car was a product of necessity – my parents bought me a totally unglamorous ’89 Sundance beater as soon as I got my licence. It wasn’t a sweet 16 present and it didn’t happen because I deserved it. We lived in the middle of nowhere. Me having my own car meant that they didn’t have to drive me to work anymore and that I could take on the role of chauffer for my three younger brothers. I resented that little tin can at first but soon came to love it like it was a living, breathing friend. You should have seen me BAWL the day the wreckers came to haul it away, long after I had to retire it (against my will). The two other vehicles I’ve driven since have been hand-my-downs (ups?) from Middle and Youngest Brother.
Picking out my own car, applying for (and getting approved for) the loan, setting things up with the dealership – it has all been a very empowering experience. Considering how little control I had when the situation first arose, I feel very in control now. I feel like an adult, guys. And for the first time in a long time (maybe ever?), that sensation doesn’t suck.
Now all that’s left is a name. With the exception of the Hyundai, I always name my vehicles (The Hyundai didn’t get a name because it was ABOVE being pidgeon-holed by worthless moniker. It was a formidable badass that was simply known as The Hyundai. Or The Beast. So, I guess it did have a name. Kinda).
So… It’s little, two door, fire engine red and is a sporty little diablo.
Any ideas?
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