Some people absolutely love to carshop. They adore the browsing, the test driving and the ever-loving-haggling-tilyou drop over the price.
Somewhere between “What’s it gonna take to put you into this car today?” and the pressure to purchase the $500 undercoat, these bargainers walk away with the steal of the day and a five-mile smile.
Not me. Although I normally consider myself to be an avid shopper, I simply loathe the thought of pulling into car lots and bickering over the bottom dollar.
That said, it was nothing short of a testimony to true love that I took our Huey, who was home from college, to find a new set of wheels. I know it’s going to age me, but back in my day a vehicle was a luxury.
Car keys weren’t just handed to us on a silver key ring, and although I didn’t have to share shoes with my sisters, we did have to walk uphill to school.
Both ways.
Therefore, I wasn’t picky when I got my very own first car. I was just happy to have something to drive. Yet it would seem that we made a wrong turn somewhere in the rearing of our children, because Huey was less than willing to settle for just any sedan.
I knew in advance what we were looking for when it came to cars. I wanted something with good gas mileage, less than a bajillion miles and a price that wouldn’t leave my beloved spouse and me to live out our years in financial ruin.
Is that too much to ask?
“How about this car?” I asked as I spied a fine specimen.
“That thing looks like I could drop my feet through the floor boards and run it to campus,” Huey responded with an emphatic eye roll. “Who am I, Fred Flintstone?”
“How about this one?” he asked, as he did a masculine Vanna White rendition over a sporty little number.
“That thing looks like it blows bubbles out of the engine.”
I liked the four-door sedan that boasted air bags. Huey pondered a Camaro.
I adored a safe-looking Pontiac, as Huey was eyeballing a slick model with a tail fin.
I was going all economical and contemplating gas mileage as Huey salivated over a Trans Am.
Finally, and not a moment too soon, we happened upon a compromise — a 2004 Buick LeSabre. It was bright, white, and looked just right. It had traveled less than 100,000 miles, the body was perfect, the interior pristine, and after a test drive with Huey at the helm, we realized that she cornered like a dream.
Praise be!
Just to be safe, we decided to run the car by dear old dad, and it appeared that after many days of looking that we had found our car.
Huey then returned to his campus home that he shares with his brother, Vernon, and left me to go to the dealer and haggle over the price.
Did I mention I’m not fond of the haggling process?
“We’re prepared to offer you this,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
“Meet us in the middle with that,” said the salesman with the offer he brought back.
“We can only do this,” I responded, as I pushed the paper to his side of the desk.
“Seems that is the best we can do,” he said as he once again returned from wherever it is that salesmen go to confer.
I appeared to be calm as a cucumber and prettymuch felt like I was going to throw up.
Still, the nice salesman and his staff took pity on me. They met my price and I jumped for eternal joy. Go me!
I couldn’t believe the car-shopping drama was finally coming to a conclusion. Twelve test drives, exhausting automotive debates and attempting to satisfy the desires of a young man’s heart without putting him in a deathtrap. Could it really be coming to an end?
I was just slipping out the door to call my beloved spouse and get his final approval to close the transaction when I received a message from Huey.
“I decided not to go with the Buick,” he texted as if it were no big deal.
“Are you kidding?” I texted back, as I looked for the hidden camera crew who surely must be candidly filming my response.
“Yes. Vernon said it looks like an oldman car.”
I think those kids of mine need to share a pair of shoes for a while and walk uphill to school— both ways.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at [email protected].