Weathered car has its own cachet
A small wedge is missing from the grille. It gives my new car the giddy grin of a champion boxer whose front teeth were bashed out.
The faded silver paint is speckled with worn-in gunk that no car wash could remove. The right side sports two chrome hubcaps, but the left-side tires have no ornamentation.
I’m proud of the cracked leather seats and sagging roof. My car may not have a CD player - or more than one working speaker. But, it has character.
I bought the 1989 Buick Park Avenue for $600 cash. My friend had owned the aging sedan for about a year and wanted to sell it so he could buy a car from his father. Three weeks prior, my green Chrysler Concorde had sputtered to an unceremonious stop on the roadside, and my mechanics couldn’t revive the engine.
Ever since I selected my first set of wheels, I’ve had unrelenting misfortune with used cars. Tow truck drivers know me well, and on my modest salary, I’ve invested enough in local repair shops to be listed as a business partner on their tax filings.
My most recent car cost $5,000, and a credit union loan put me in the driver’s seat. I was shopping out of necessity, not choice - my car was broken beyond repair, and I had just been hired at the Havelock News, where I’d have to commute daily from my New Bern home.
I was recovering from a failed small business. My bank statements bore no large numbers without minus signs in front of them, so I was forced to make the unwise but all-too-necessary choice that keeps millions of motorists on the road.
Dealerships call it "sign and drive" with no money down.
I call it legal loansharking. With dealer fees and interest, I paid more than a thousand dollars over the sticker price.
That was two years ago, and in that time, I’d evolved from a young spendthrift to a miserly money master. I paid off the car loan in exactly half of its three-year term, and I worked long hours at second and third jobs to chip away at the debt I’d accumulated during my business venture.
My goal of being 100 percent debt-free by midsummer seemed well within reach. That is, until my car lost power as I returned to work from a photo assignment.
Friends who knew about my lackluster luck with used cars suggested I buy new. A manufacturer’s warranty would be my safety net from bank-breaking repairs. But, as I’d heard financial guru Dave Ramsey explain that new cars lose 60 percent of their value in the first four years, I didn’t fall for that fallacy.
Late-model used cars that would require a hefty down payment and regular monthly installments were within reach, but I knew the added expense of a car payment would cripple my savings and debt reimbursement plans. So, I found the cheapest mechanically sound vehicle I could, paid cash and got behind the wheel.
Though my previous car was by no means new, its sleek shape and fresh coat of paint made it a respectable ride. Switching gears to my road-weary rattletrap was an adjustment, but I’ve already grown fond of the bruised, battered Buick.
The glove compartment doesn’t shut. The speedometer is off by exactly 20 mph. The heat and air conditioning don’t work.
I don’t care. It’s basic transportation, and it belongs to me. There’s no lien, no loan, no lease and no car payment.
If any car ever symbolized freedom, it’s this one.
This is the latest installment of my newspaper column.
The faded silver paint is speckled with worn-in gunk that no car wash could remove. The right side sports two chrome hubcaps, but the left-side tires have no ornamentation.
I’m proud of the cracked leather seats and sagging roof. My car may not have a CD player - or more than one working speaker. But, it has character.
I bought the 1989 Buick Park Avenue for $600 cash. My friend had owned the aging sedan for about a year and wanted to sell it so he could buy a car from his father. Three weeks prior, my green Chrysler Concorde had sputtered to an unceremonious stop on the roadside, and my mechanics couldn’t revive the engine.
Ever since I selected my first set of wheels, I’ve had unrelenting misfortune with used cars. Tow truck drivers know me well, and on my modest salary, I’ve invested enough in local repair shops to be listed as a business partner on their tax filings.
My most recent car cost $5,000, and a credit union loan put me in the driver’s seat. I was shopping out of necessity, not choice - my car was broken beyond repair, and I had just been hired at the Havelock News, where I’d have to commute daily from my New Bern home.
I was recovering from a failed small business. My bank statements bore no large numbers without minus signs in front of them, so I was forced to make the unwise but all-too-necessary choice that keeps millions of motorists on the road.
Dealerships call it "sign and drive" with no money down.
I call it legal loansharking. With dealer fees and interest, I paid more than a thousand dollars over the sticker price.
That was two years ago, and in that time, I’d evolved from a young spendthrift to a miserly money master. I paid off the car loan in exactly half of its three-year term, and I worked long hours at second and third jobs to chip away at the debt I’d accumulated during my business venture.
My goal of being 100 percent debt-free by midsummer seemed well within reach. That is, until my car lost power as I returned to work from a photo assignment.
Friends who knew about my lackluster luck with used cars suggested I buy new. A manufacturer’s warranty would be my safety net from bank-breaking repairs. But, as I’d heard financial guru Dave Ramsey explain that new cars lose 60 percent of their value in the first four years, I didn’t fall for that fallacy.
Late-model used cars that would require a hefty down payment and regular monthly installments were within reach, but I knew the added expense of a car payment would cripple my savings and debt reimbursement plans. So, I found the cheapest mechanically sound vehicle I could, paid cash and got behind the wheel.
Though my previous car was by no means new, its sleek shape and fresh coat of paint made it a respectable ride. Switching gears to my road-weary rattletrap was an adjustment, but I’ve already grown fond of the bruised, battered Buick.
The glove compartment doesn’t shut. The speedometer is off by exactly 20 mph. The heat and air conditioning don’t work.
I don’t care. It’s basic transportation, and it belongs to me. There’s no lien, no loan, no lease and no car payment.
If any car ever symbolized freedom, it’s this one.
This is the latest installment of my newspaper column.