As those of you who follow my blog every week (Hi Mom!) know, a few weeks ago my car broke down. If any of you reading this had the pleasure of meeting my car, you know she's a 60-something grandmother from New Jersey with a smoking problem, a foul mouth and a bum hip. Or at least, she was. Ilene was put to rest a few weekends ago. I'm sure I will see her again in Heaven one day because as far as safety was concerned, Ilene was certainly "the least of these" and I know a few people who gave their lives to the Lord after just one ride. She was an organ donor and I can only hope that soon there will be pieces of her all over the highways of North Carolina. And no, I would not be surprised to see that a piece of Ilene had fallen off of another vehicle and was literally on the highway. Until then, I will see her in every squeaky fan belt, sketchy transmission, and broken spare tire mount I come across.
With Ilene firmly in my past, it was time to get a new car. Now I had no idea what I was getting myself into, the only way I know how to identify cars is by color and cheeky bumper stickers. So I told my parents that I didn't have many opinions on cars, my only request was no PT Losers, to which they quickly agreed. They picked out some cars to look at and Saturday morning we headed out, my parents with internet printouts and notepads, myself with equal fear and excitement.
It became apparent very quickly that my dad should do all of the talking. I'm pretty sure the only helpful question I asked all day was "where is your bathroom?" My dad was there to play hardball, talk numbers and drink complimentary coffee. Missy and I just pointed out what we found pretty or unacceptable (manual windows...do better). At Nissan my mother and I did a lap around the lot in search of more color options. We learned to avoid the pricier Altimas and Maximas, or as I like to call them, the cars with earrings (turn signals on the side view mirrors). At Toyota we learned the importance of finding a car without a gullet. To most people gullet means the throat or esophagus but I used it to indicate the leather bag that accompanies the PRINDL or emergency brake in some cars. For those of you who didn't watch the Suite Life of Zach & Cody in middle school (and high school, be honest), the PRINDL is the gear shift. Which brings me to another point, PRINDL placement is key when you are car shopping. After the 4 Cs (color, cup holders, CD player, chrome details), PRINDL location is the next thing I look at. Dad was in charge of the 5th C-cost. My big mistake of the day was not wearing a shirt that said "I'm a Republican!" because Toyota kept trying to sell me a Prius. Stop trying to make Prius happen.
And then came the test drives. My parents are middle class, working, average Americans. But you would have thought these two were having trouble deciding between a Rolls-Royce and a Bentley if you'd heard them on Saturday. They asked some of the most bougie questions you've ever heard, as if I were used to a luxury vehicle. I constantly reminded them that Ilene was a 2002 Kia held together with zip ties, duct tape and prayers, almost any other car would be an upgrade. But they kept going with the "what is bluetooth?" "can you really fit a whole drum set in the trunk?" and then Missy chimed in with "her friends won't be able to hear the radio in the back seat, can you balance the speakers and send more volume to the back of the car?" Can cars even do that? And why is Missy so concerned with the passenger experience? Passengers were thankful to survive a ride in Ilene, I'm sure they won't mind if they can't physically feel the bass line of all the Taylor Swift songs I blast while driving.
Test drives were particularly stressful for me because my dad made me drive so fast. He asked me to go 70 once with the salesman right there in the car. The whole time I was thinking "if I wreck, our insurance will have to buy them a replacement car and a replacement Scott". Now granted the speed limit was 70, but I like for my parents to think that I drive exactly the speed limit everywhere, or perhaps a few miles per hour below if I'm running early. Ilene would shake when she got above 65 so going 70 was a horrific experience I hope to never repeat...with my parents in the car. When I drove the car that we eventually purchased I was with my brother and the dealership let us test drive it alone (my brother is 17 and an even worse driver than I am). When we came back home my dad asked if I had let Patrick drive it too. As if! He's lucky I let him ride in it at all.
What I lack in general motor vehicle knowledge, financial understanding and common sense, I make up for in stubbornness. I wanted a black car. I got a black car. Goodbye Ilene, hello Cordelia. I love my new car more than peanut butter M&Ms, just to put my relationship with Cordelia in perspective, we couldn't be happier.
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