Tag Archives: Car Shopping

Wanna go for a ride?

22 Feb

So, I know it’s been a long year that you fine people have been waiting, no doubt with bated breath, to find out about how my whole car hunt thing turned out. I dithered on about it here , here and even here. It was about this same time last year that I was told my trusty Toyota, Suki (I name all of my cars), was knocking on death’s door and that she had only weeks to live. By the way, it was the dealership’s mechanic who broke the news to me while graciously offering to escort me to the dealership showroom to look at the “fantastic group of 2012” offerings, or sit tight while he replaced my rear axel for a couple thousand dollars, with more repairs to follow. It was my choice, he assured me. I opted for an automotive band-aid instead. Suspiciously, with only new front brakes, tires and an oil change, that SUV of mine managed to eek out another 13,000 miles of carpools, trips out of town and commutes to work.

To recap, my list of parameters was that I wanted a new SUV/Crossover/Wagon that has great fuel economy using cheap gas, optional third row seating, a black exterior with a tan interior, all the techy bells and whistles, free maintenance, oh, and I wanted it to come in under 40k, including my trade-in. I was giving myself a month or two to indulge in due-diligence. I tested just about everything: Subaru, Toyota, Honda, Audi, Cadillac, Buick, Acura, BMW, Volvo, Lexus…I couldn’t get all that excited. At a few dealerships, I drove several models. Some cars I drove several times. All told, I drove over twenty different makes/models. I made spreadsheets and charts. Took the family to visit certain cars. It boiled down to this: for the amount of money I was willing to barf up, if I were going to get the all of the fun stuff I wanted, I’d have to get a 5-seater. Given seat belt laws and our lifestyle, that just wasn’t going to work for us. I suffered from a debilitating case of analysis paralysis. The family was getting frustrated with my inability to make a move. I just couldn’t get comfortable enough to pull the trigger, but I came close twice. All the while, Suki’s health was in a downward spiral. Things quit working, the driver side air bag was bulging, the antennae just stopped, the rear hatch gave up, and finally she started grinding and refusing to go any higher than third gear. Even Snakebite and Hot Tub started seeing the white light when we were out on the road. It was time to send this car over the rainbow… or to a hard-up landscaping crew.

My last ride before I jumped ship to Toyota was a huge, pimp-style Mercedes. We kept that car until it was fifteen years old. She was unreliable as hell and cost us thousands of dollars a year in maintenance plus untold hours of inconvenience and frustration. But I had inherited it from my mother and it looked great and was pretty dreamy when it was actually moving. Of course, by the end, it wouldn’t go in reverse. After we got rid of it, I brushed my hands together and said “never again”. I even chucked my goofy “Mercedes Only Parking” sign that someone had given me for our garage. I meant business.

On a lark, I found myself at RBM of Atlanta, just to see. Just to look. Just to assure myself that I would never go back there again. And there they were: glossy German SUVs with voice activated systems, burled wood inlays and sexy new car smell. A salesman quickly came over and started to give me the stats. I put on my best dour “I’m not impressed face” as he had me sitting in the third row and folding seats with the touch of a button. While my body language tried to remain stoic, I was falling in love with a $75k car. Shit. “My” salesman, Steve Szczupak, assured me the he was going to become my new best friend. Then my best friend asked the magic question that was going to lead to a speedy break-up: “So, how much are you looking to spend?” I came clean and he gently redirected me to a 5-seater. I drove it while Steve was imploring me to “drive it like ya stole it” and “stomp on it”. It did not suck; it was everything I had hoped it would be, with the exception of those much-needed extra seats. Damn.

And then we started talking about “previously enjoyed, certified” cars. Say whaaa? All of the warranty love with none of the depreciation? Okay. Free car washes anytime I want? Roadside assistance for life? Good coffee in the waiting room? I was open. And then there was a deal. And I was smitten. And you know how when you’re in love a lot of the ideas you had before suddenly seem a little silly and trite? Your heart takes over and your mind can’t help you. I felt like Pepe Le Pew when he first sees the French pussycat.

Here she is in all of her silver exterior, black interior, premium unleaded, never-again-a-Benz glory. I named her Augusta:

As an aside…I believe in signs. We made the deal on what was Big Daddy and my sixteenth wedding anniversary. Other than it being poetic to be getting a new ride on my sweet sixteen, I literally bumped into Joan, who was a bride’s maid in our wedding. And then when we got in the car, Kiss’ “Christine Sixteen” was on the radio. It was meant to be. The planets were in alignment. And then the next night? The couple that we went out with for Augusta’s inaugural night on the town bought their car from my new best friend, Steve, too. Go figure.



10 Feb

It’s February and the car hunt is in full swing.  Car shopping is not as easy as it looks, and it’s been incredibly aging for me.  That getting a new car makes me feel like barfing instead of drag racing is pretty telling about where I am in life.  I made a list of about nine “acceptable” rides and have flung myself into test-drive hell.  When you are looking for something to haul kids, bat bags and groceries around in on a set budget, it turns out that they’re all pretty much the same and within a couple thousand dollars of one another.  How to pick?

I have eliminated the Honda Pilot based solely on the salesman’s halitosis and awful toupee.  The poor fella must have been around seventy and his head looked like a strawberry blonde version of the Moe Howard.  I can’t trust him to put me in the right car when he can’t even find the right piece for himself.  Petty?  Sure, but I’ve got to start slashing choices somehow.

The hair that launched a thousand wigs

At the start of this whole car search business I was pretty hot to trot for a Subaru.  You may not know that our friend Geoff once dubbed me “lesbian cat-nip”.  Owning a Subaru would pose a unique problem for me.  Butch chicks l-o-v-e me.  I don’t know why, but women with buzz cuts, overalls and lotsa piercings find me the moment I step foot outside of Buckhead.  Here’s the rub: I don’t know what’s going on in the rest of the country, but in Atlanta, Subaru is the car of choice for Sappho’s minions.  Big Daddy has pointed out that if I were to get the Tribeca that I like, I will never be able to cut my hair, visit Decatur or wear my favorite yard-work boots off property again until the car gets traded out on down the road.  I could forget about going to Home Depot on the weekends.  Plus, leaving the house fabulous all the time could be a bit of a burden.  Sayonara, Subaru.

Oh, Subaru! I can't imagine keeping these only to myself!

Mirror, mirror on the wall.  I am my mother, after all. Okay, I didn’t make that up; I saw it on a needlepoint pillow somewhere.  For craps and giggles I checked out a Caddy.  It may be my most favorite so far, no lie.  This confuses me to no end.  And it doesn’t have the third row option that I decided was non-optional.  My grandparents drove Cadillacs, I learned to drive in my mother’s Fleetwood Cadillac.  This test drive was like coming home.  I have pretty much always associated Cadillacs with geriatrics and pimps.  Oh, Lord.  What does this Cadillac lust mean for me?  Should I give my hair a blue rinse or start guzzling gin n’ juice?

Curb feelers are an add-on charge

To be continued….