Wednesday, November 21, 2012

I Have the Worst Luck with Cars, Part X: A New Leaf???

Why, yes, we do still have the Chevy Aveo. She's currently sitting in the parking lot, pouting because this past weekend, we used her to look for her replacement. And the entire time, she was acting like a whiny bitch, sputtering and making weird noises that had not been occurring before or since. It's like she just knew.

Anyway, we woke up early to go look at a Subaru that both Three and I really wanted. It was pristine: 1994 Subaru Legacy, with only 170k on it, and for Subarus? That's amazing. A friend of ours had a Subaru that lasted up until 500k, and the only reason it didn't continue onward was because the damned tires literally fell off the car. I had texted the guy selling it the night before and said we would come look at it, cash in hand, in the morning, but by the time we were out and moving, the guy was all, "Haha, sorry, guys. I already sold it."
No caption really needed.
Oh. Well, awesome. We were functioning on less than 4 hours of sleep and now we would have no new car. Both Three and I were disappointed, but I think I was a little bit more. I guess I was just tired of dealing with Aveos. I mean, I couldn't really blame the man for selling to the first person who got there. But I was definitely slightly peeved. Thankfully, we had a few more options and, after eating a little breakfast, headed down to Lewisburg to look at a 1993 Lincoln Town Car that only had 94k on it.

The drive down there was hopeful, but all of that was dashed when we saw and drove the car. Seriously, it was ... bracing. The paint job was in decent shape but the windshield had a giant crack in it (that curiously wasn't mentioned in the ad, huh), and the interior was a little on the shabby side. I'm not one for appearances, particularly if the car drives well, but it was reaching my threshold of delapidatedness: the driver's side handle was ripped off and it looked like a pack of dogs had run through, tearing up the seats slightly, before they vacuumed it out. And then the actual drive. Ugh. Within the first few minutes, the car started swerving; at first, I thought it was Three's lack of driving abilities*, but it turned out the air ride had completely gone kaput. And then the engine light came on, and THEN the engine sounded like it was struggling to run. I looked at Three and we both just sighed. Square one. And it didn't help that the guy selling it was a total asshat when we told him we weren't buying the car. He all but called my husband an idiot.
You, sir, are an excellent salesman.
We got back on the road, headed home (and for Naptime), when Three saw the car he lusted for since his teens on the side of the road: an old school VW bug that is for sale. He essentially begged me to go back and look at it, and I'm not about to tell him he can't when we've just had two giant fails in car-searching. He called up the guy who's number is listed on the for sale sign and then gleefully told me that the seller wants exactly what we have for the car. I was a little skeptical, but Three was just so thrilled and child-like that I was just like, "Well, okay! Awesome!!!"

Now, there's a little backstory to this one. Three had bought a 1971 (I think) VW Super Beetle when he was younger that he'd completely restored to what he called "cherry condition." It was bright red convertible and he loved that thing. Then his younger sister stole it and wrecked it on a dirt road because she's an entitled bitch. Then he sees this:
Not this actual image. Because ha, we were in the middle of BFE and the car was at a gas station that had pumps with no credit card swipey things.
And all those positive memories of being a teenager with an awesome retro car come flooding back and, well, man turns into boy.

So, the guy, looking like a younger, camo-wearing Santa Claus, drove out to let us test-drive the Beetle, and I saw a side of Three that amuses me: the three-year old side. He was all giddy and excited and about ready to walk up to the guy and slap what cash we had in his hand. Then it turned out that Three misheard the guy on the phone; he wanted ten times what we had.

It's a strange thing to see your husband wilt, coming down from a nostalgic high, but the guy seemed convinced he had a sale, even when Three said, "We've got a few things we need to get taken care of, but we have your number." I didn't like lying to the guy, but after the earlier encounter with the creepy used car salesman, I wasn't about to change Three's story. As we pulled away, Three stared at the Beetle with this "It was not meant to be" expression, and we then made a pact that buying another Beetle was one of our goals in life. A silly little goal, but a goal nonetheless.

After a few more busts, Three suggested that we go back to the place where he'd bought Chiquita. I gave him some side-eye - I mean, come on, look at Chiquita, look at your choices - but he was quick to remind me that the owner of the lot had told him that the Aveo wasn't necessarily the best choice for reliability. I wasn't entirely convinced and continued to look at various vehicles listed on Craigslist within our price range. But, he was driving the car so whatever. I was ready to go home and rest in preparation for some more searching, since it seemed like I was seeking the damned ark of the covenant. Should it be that damned hard to find a car that wasn't eighty bazillion dollars or flat out a piece of junk?

Well, my question was answered:
Meet the Count of Monte Cristo, aka The Count, aka Edmond Dantes.
Neither of us was expecting any kind of decent car, at least not one that we could afford. After test driving another car (a Monte Carlo that I had picked out), we hopped into the Lincoln Town Car of our dreams. Seriously, this car is amazing. They took out the air ride apparatus (thank you, GOD), so it drives so smoothly. There's climate control and a sunroof**. And hahahaha, it has a tape deck and cigarette trays. Ahh, the 90s.

Since Three had purchased his last car with them (and consistently paid and was, like, friendly and shit), the owner of the lot gave us an awesome deal (lowered the price and the interest rate) and we'll be paying off the Count in less than two years. Three let me drive the new car to get some more gas, and OMG, it was beautiful. No smoke coming from the hood, no sputtering, no bouncing from the tire that consistently (and inexplicably) loses pressure. And the sound system? It actually sounds like music, instead of music as played through a tin can. And did I mention that it will be ours in less than two years? Because TWO YEARS. Possibly sooner, especially since we're planning on paying a little more each month. We've even redone our budget, like you do as a responsible adult, to compensate.

Squee!!

The moral of this story is I GOT MY LAND-YACHT, BITCHES. I don't even care about anything else***.

* I love Three. I do. But his driving skills are definitely shitty. How he has not been killed before now baffles me and only proves that God loves him.
** Remember that we have been driving Chiquita for two years. And Roxy, about six years younger than the Count, was thirty times crappier. So yes, climate control instead of on and off dials is a leap in the right direction.
*** I just noticed that this is the first car ever that I'm referring to as a "he." Is it too late to rename it Countess?? :(
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