Car Shopping: It’s the Most Eh Time of the Year

We raised the stakes at the dealership by bringing along a cranky 9 month old, over-tired 3 year old, and a small stuffed duck that quacks for a long, long time when you squeeze it.

 

Oh, the elegance we’ve enjoyed as the proud owners of a 1996 Honda Accord, with her 170k miles, hanging front bumper, and delightfully irreverent windshield wipers that turn on whenever they please.  All this is nearly at an end.  For the old gal is now burning oil, and we have already sunk untold (or, more accurately, embarrassing to tell about) moneys into keeping her running.  Time to put it to rest and get a car that doesn’t require re-routing to avoid highways.

Not that my husband hasn’t enjoyed it.  I think he rather enjoyed his scrappy professor-mobile.  It told the world: all I care about is SCIENCE!  Professor G doesn’t need your flash or material markers of success.  He’s got degrees for days!  [Side note: this is what happens when you meet your mate at eighteen years old.  You don’t really have an opportunity to get a wider view of how their eccentricities will manifest.]  But even he, Mr. Take-What-You-Must-But-Leave-Me-My-MATLAB, has admitted that he’d like to drive something a bit sturdier.   He is, after all, regularly in the position of wooing graduate students (to work in his LAB, people! C’MON!).  And while the Honda may or may not chase them into the arms of another university, it will likely nudge them toward business school.

What do we want? A family car.  As big as the wagon used to seem, two car seats have taken up more space than I ever dreamed.  I can wedge myself in between them only at contortionist angles with the acceptance of significant pain.  Plus, kids be needing stuff!  They’re hungry, they’re hot, they’re cold, they’ve soiled themselves, they’re bored.  So much stuff.  Something a little roomier than the station wagon would be awesome.

So, we’re back to the car buying.  The first time we bought a car together was when we graduated college and Will's parents helped buy him a car.  We had our budget, the wind at our back, no children or even mutts to speak of, and off we went.  After about 15 minutes in a car dealership, we just wanted bus fare home.  Will and I are sensitive people, often to a fault.  And car dealerships?  I’m not sure why, but they make me awfully sad.  Hordes of sales people all working late into the evening, livelihoods dependent on the luck of which customer they happen to glom onto.  This could be utterly projected despair.  For me, every aspect of this job is what I would not want, so that’s the tainted lens I see it through, I suppose.

The sales strategies I’ve come across can be lumped in two categories: sales people with looks of resignation and melancholy in their eyes causing you to want to buy a car just to cheer them up; or a manic, slick-guy vibe that leaves you confused and panicked that you may accidentally buy a car if you aren’t totally vigilant.  Not sure which I prefer.  At least with the latter you end up with a car and the whole thing can end.

Right now we are in the throes of negotiation.  Which means I get five calls a day from car dealers.  I keep saying “YOU WANT TOO MUCH MONEY.”  And they’re all, “Just come on back.  Let’s take a look at that trade in.  We’ll make it work.”  So I then reiterate “Our trade in is worthless so just SELL THE CAR FOR LESS MONEY.” I don’t know what they think a face-to-face will do.  There was no, shall we say, chemistry in these interactions.  I even required a Diet Coke to stick with the whole ordeal, which delicious poisonous caffeine nectar I gave up long ago.  Unless the strategy is to drain our life force till we drive off the lot in a shiny CR-V…  That’s actually a solid strategy.  “Ok, let me just go back to talk to my manager again and….” “Oh God, STOP! You’ve got me! I’ll just buy the thing! WHAT DO YOU DO BACK THERE WITH YOUR MANAGER? I don’t want to be here any more *sob*.”

We do need the new car before ye’ oldest car bursts into flames.  Soon enough I will have my pound of flesh in the form of mud flaps or a free cargo mat.  And they will sell us a car.  We will get a reasonable deal, because I am not terrible at this.  Better, at least, than my husband.  During our second car transaction many years ago, I asked if I could get a better price if I took a car off the lot that they were having difficulty moving.  One, I was told, was in an unpopular color.  I was shown this Superman blue Jetta, and my (should have been) silent partner offers: “That’s not a bad color at all! I like it!”  Simmer down there, Pollyanna.  I got this. 

This whole thing would be a lot more pleasant, too, obviously, if this were not money we neither wanted nor readily had to spend.  It has conjured up the always fun: “Lord.  Maybe I need to get a job.”  “Yeah, that would help.”  “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR LIFE WOULD BE LIKE IF I WORKED FULL TIME?” (Husband exits stage left, walking backwards and muttering incoherently.)  

The big car reveal, I believe, will come in the next week or so.  Till then, feel free to start sending me amazing bumper stickers.  I will accept “I’d Rather Be In Ann Arbor”, “Is that your FINAL answer?”, and “Lost Your Cat? Check Under My Tires.”