Cajoled and Corolla-ed

Change is hard. It should be deferred whenever possible. I have, for example, deferred getting a new car for approximately 20 years now. It has been a thing of pride for me. I bought my '94 Toyota Corolla when it was a year old and have been basking in transportational status-quo ever since. I would likely be basking for years more if it had been left to me. Unfortunately few things are these days. Stacy has this irrational regard for health and safety - this weird protective urge surrounding, if not me, our children. Potential death and dismemberment seem to really be hot spots for her. Seems a little over the top to me. She also seems to get a little out-of-sorts with the occasional breaking down in more questionable neighborhoods. A small engine fire and you will hear about it for weeks. Some people like the thrill of adventure. Not Stacy. Go figure.

I don't like change, but evidently I don't like Stacy being unhappy even more. Or so she tells me. After much prodding and pretty much having all the calls and appointments set up without my knowledge or consent, I was informed that I was to meet so-and-so at the Toyota dealer at 9:30am sharp on my hard-won Friday off. "Be prepared to go over the features you want and any options you will consider," I was told.

"Things that I like? You mean like familiar In-and-Out stains and driver's side upholstery that has had 20 years to perfectly accommodate my substantial behind?" I tried.

"You know what I mean. And call Stephanie at AutoLand as soon as you're done. She's broking our deal."

“Our deal? Isn't this my car? …I retract that question in light of your withering glare.”

My early morning meeting in that icon of American consumerism went well enough, I guess. A sales guy, who had evidently been read the riot act about being pushy, showed me around the lot and went over the various styles and options. I was stunned to learn that there are more things to consider than just color. I was also far more stunned to hear that the used car selection was pretty sparse – given the economic downturn of the past few years, the vast hordes of the cutting-edge crowds had been forced to give up their tendencies to trade out their cars every two years, so the supply of late-model used cars had pretty well dried up. (Imagine. People considering keeping their cars for a couple of years? What a concept!) The relative scarcity of good used cars had pretty much ensured that the prices for the few decent models available were within spitting range of the new version. Abomination! I have in 46 years never bought a new car. The wholesale plummeting of intrinsic value in the microsecond it takes for that new car to transition from the dealer driveway to the highway blacktop has always been more than I could financially stomach. More change! These are cruel times!

I left the dealers and called the broker, happy to have done my day’s duty and ready to return to my day-off of Minecraft and slovenliness. “So you’ve seen all the cars,” she said. “Great! Be here at 3:00 and we’ll get it all squared away.”

Squared away? All squared away? That sounded a little like haste. In my list of phobias, haste is a not-too-distance runner up to change. “Um. OK,” I said, pretty much resigning any further claims to manhood.

By 3:30 my hand was cramping from all the signatures and a surprisingly small cashier’s check weighed down with a considerable number of 0’s changed hands, considerably lightening my wallet. The dealer dude was there too and the next thing I know he’s tossed me a key and was showing my how to sync my phone with the Bluetooth in the new slate blue Corolla parked out front. Stacy and the kids suddenly appeared from nowhere, like the climax of a bad movie where the entire cast magically converges to the confusion of the befuddled protagonist. I must have blacked out at that point because the next thing I knew I was in the driver’s seat, the key in the ignition and the motor running and I realized I was driving down Crenshaw Blvd. As sound slowly crept back to my ringing ears I realized I was not alone in the car. “Go faster, Daddy! Look, I can roll down the windows, Daddy! Call Mom on your cell phone, Daddy! Can you find something better on the radio, Daddy?”

It was a transformative moment and within a few minutes I’d gotten a grip on myself and realized that not only could I embrace the moment, but that I must embrace the moment. I was driving a new car, in Southern California, and just like all the commercials insist, I was now, defacto, the hottest thing going. In one fell swoop I had transformed into someone hip, cultured, and stunningly good-looking. Hot blond women at red lights looked over at me and blushed and smiled. Other ruggedly hunkish guys in Porches gave me the knowing “well-done” look of a compadre in spirit. As the noise of the kids faded again into the background, I drove cockily home in a Corolla that had just shed 20 years, and I contemplated where I would find a broker to trade in Stacy.

Kicked to the curb.