A New Car

Ten years ago, I bought a car. Ten years before that, I bought a car. So naturally, yesterday I bought a car. I didn’t set out to purchase automobiles every ten years, it’s just worked out that way. It’s the same way with Pam, I buy her a car roughly every ten years. There are several reasons for this, I suppose. First of all, I don’t like buying cars. They are expensive. They are also depreciating assets and I am not in the depreciating business. The fact that the car I purchased yesterday is worth considerably less this morning as it sits in my garage is profoundly disappointing. The process of buying cars, although improved, is annoying, as it involves sometimes ruthlessly disingenuous salesmen and their equally ruthless managers, all intent on separating me from as much of my money as is legally possible. Nevertheless, there I was at Moore Cadillac yesterday enduring my once in a decade unpleasantness.

As is always the case with my car purchases, this one was a demonstrator. Why should I take the initial depreciation hit when I can let someone else do so? Usually the cars I buy have two to three thousand miles on them at time of purchase. This one, happily, had only 227. Like my old car, this new one was also red. I like red cars. They are easier to find in parking lots. I fully intend to keep this one for another ten years.

The problem with buying cars only once every ten years is that when you get a new one, it takes three hours for the sales guy to explain to you how to turn the thing on. The technological advancements in automobiles over the past decade has been astonishing. As my man Bob sat beside me explaining all of the bells and whistles of my new Cadillac XT5, I felt like I did when I bought my first smart phone, “what the heck??” There I was taking my test drive when all of a sudden my seat began furiously vibrating beneath me. At first I thought there might have been a squirrel trapped down there, but was informed that I had merely allowed the car to drift out from between the white lines of my lane. OOOO-K, good to know! Then I was warned that if I was foolish enough to not slow down fast enough because of an approaching backup, first the car’s seat will start to vibrate, then a bright red flashing light will illuminate the entire dash, then the car’s computer will suddenly and violently apply the brakes, along with a caustic warning by Charles, my computer’s British-sounding voice...Hand’s on the wheel, eyes on the road, mate! In fact, it became clear to me as the two hour tutorial continued that there would be many such tongue lashings, flashing lights and beeps directed my way as the new owner of this vehicle. To drive this car will be an exercise in computer based denunciations and stinging invective directed at me for my various shortcomings as a driver by a pleasant but firm British chap who does not suffer fools. I am told that there is a way to shut off this abuse, but I rather think that it will do me good to be dressed down every once in a while by my car. Back out of many parking space too fast and this thing will slam on the brakes and demand to know where the freaking fire is!! Let your speed creep up to 80 on the interstate? Better be ready for old Chuck to chime in, “Yes, indeed. This will be a fine day to die. Proceed!!” Weave in and out of traffic too frequently and my friend will inquire as to whether or not my life insurance is paid up.

As I drove my new car off the lot at 5:30 in the afternoon, after arriving there at 1:00, it occurred to me that this will probably be the last car I buy which allows me to drive. Ten years from now when I’m 71, my final car will most likely be of the fully automated self-driving variety. No telling what kind of backtalk that computer will dish out!