Requiem For a Dream
I found her on the internet.
She was a 1999 silver Miata with all the trimmings - alloy wheels, Bose speakers, leather wrapped steering wheel, and a reconditioned ragtop. She had an automatic transmission. She only had 50K miles on her. And the dealer only wanted ten thousand dollars.
I wanted her. My own car, a charming 1994 MX-6, is sporty and fun and infinitely more practical than a two seater convertible. My car is fully paid for with no mysterious problems, and also has only 50K miles. But I still wanted the sparkling little Miata with the leather bucket seats and the CD player.
(I could keep going, but pretty much everyone authorized to read this blog already knows about my love affair with this little Miata, since I got all of you to help me rationalize the purchase.)
Friday night, as my mate watched movies in the living room, I sat down to do serious research. I researched the values, insurance, retail ranges, reliability, and everything else besides. I ran the numbers on my MX-6 to figure out what a fair trade-in value would be (though I was secretly hoping they'd refuse to take her, so I could give her to someone in need the way she was all but given to me). I even pulled a Carfax search on the Miata's VIN number. I went to sleep on Friday night, knowing I would be her third owner.
On Saturday I woke up and called the dealership, located in BFE Maryland. (That's "bum fuck Egypt" for those of you who were never fifteen.) I asked, with my heart pounding, if the silver Miata was still there. The dealer was advertising a black one, a red one, and a silver one, and I wasn't making the drive for any but the silver girl, sail on by. And the man said she WAS.
My mate and I hopped into the MX-6 after cleaning out all my stuff. The only thing in the map pocket was a folder with all my research, and the title to the MX-6. As we zipped down the highway, we planned our attack. We would not mention the tradein until a price was set. We would take turns test driving her. We would check the weatherstripping, the latches, the brakes. And we would take her home, and buy a little car cover for her to protect her from sparrow shit.
When we got to the dealer, there she was. She was a gleaming gem, her paint polished to such a degree that the blue spring sky shimmered in the gloss. Her black top was up, so I peered in the window before looking for the salesman. That was when I saw that she had the default steering wheel and a manual transmission. I looked again, and compared my printouts with her sticker. Wrong VIN. This was not my car.
I laughed, and stepped away. Sheesh, getting all starry eyed over the wrong car just because she was silver. When the salesman approached, I asked where the silver Miata with the automatic transmission was, because I was here to take a look. He did a quick walk around the lot and failed to see her. He vanished inside the dealership as my heart sank.
He returned, and said she was gone. Sold that morning. I said in shock and disbelief, "But I called!" Much later, I realized that I had called... but not specified WHICH silver Miata. But I didn't think about that as I stared at the poor salesman. I even used my angry death glare, which I'm told either freezes your blood or reminds you of an angry cockatoo.
His manager materialized, rubbing his hands together. The manager had greasy hair and a vaguely European accent. Not only had they sold MY new car, but they were assaulting me with cliches! "What can I do to make a deeeeeeeeeel for you today?"
Nothing, I told him. I'd made the drive for the silver Miata with an automatic transmission and shiny wheels. "But this black one is in much better condition!" he said in a happy voice. I glanced over at it. Three grand more, the wrong color, the wrong wheels, the wrong year, manual transmission, and no cute little spoiler. I did not want this car.
"But I liked the price on the other one," I replied, planting my feet, and settling into haggle mode.
My mate grabbed my hand. "Didn't you have your heart set on the silver one? Come on, honey, thanks for your time, no, we're not interested," he called out over his shoulder as he raced towards my car. He knows I can't resist a bargain, even if it means settling for something I don't want.
I wonder how low I could have gotten the price down on the black one.
I hope the silver girl's new parents buy her a car cover.
She was a 1999 silver Miata with all the trimmings - alloy wheels, Bose speakers, leather wrapped steering wheel, and a reconditioned ragtop. She had an automatic transmission. She only had 50K miles on her. And the dealer only wanted ten thousand dollars.
I wanted her. My own car, a charming 1994 MX-6, is sporty and fun and infinitely more practical than a two seater convertible. My car is fully paid for with no mysterious problems, and also has only 50K miles. But I still wanted the sparkling little Miata with the leather bucket seats and the CD player.
(I could keep going, but pretty much everyone authorized to read this blog already knows about my love affair with this little Miata, since I got all of you to help me rationalize the purchase.)
Friday night, as my mate watched movies in the living room, I sat down to do serious research. I researched the values, insurance, retail ranges, reliability, and everything else besides. I ran the numbers on my MX-6 to figure out what a fair trade-in value would be (though I was secretly hoping they'd refuse to take her, so I could give her to someone in need the way she was all but given to me). I even pulled a Carfax search on the Miata's VIN number. I went to sleep on Friday night, knowing I would be her third owner.
On Saturday I woke up and called the dealership, located in BFE Maryland. (That's "bum fuck Egypt" for those of you who were never fifteen.) I asked, with my heart pounding, if the silver Miata was still there. The dealer was advertising a black one, a red one, and a silver one, and I wasn't making the drive for any but the silver girl, sail on by. And the man said she WAS.
My mate and I hopped into the MX-6 after cleaning out all my stuff. The only thing in the map pocket was a folder with all my research, and the title to the MX-6. As we zipped down the highway, we planned our attack. We would not mention the tradein until a price was set. We would take turns test driving her. We would check the weatherstripping, the latches, the brakes. And we would take her home, and buy a little car cover for her to protect her from sparrow shit.
When we got to the dealer, there she was. She was a gleaming gem, her paint polished to such a degree that the blue spring sky shimmered in the gloss. Her black top was up, so I peered in the window before looking for the salesman. That was when I saw that she had the default steering wheel and a manual transmission. I looked again, and compared my printouts with her sticker. Wrong VIN. This was not my car.
I laughed, and stepped away. Sheesh, getting all starry eyed over the wrong car just because she was silver. When the salesman approached, I asked where the silver Miata with the automatic transmission was, because I was here to take a look. He did a quick walk around the lot and failed to see her. He vanished inside the dealership as my heart sank.
He returned, and said she was gone. Sold that morning. I said in shock and disbelief, "But I called!" Much later, I realized that I had called... but not specified WHICH silver Miata. But I didn't think about that as I stared at the poor salesman. I even used my angry death glare, which I'm told either freezes your blood or reminds you of an angry cockatoo.
His manager materialized, rubbing his hands together. The manager had greasy hair and a vaguely European accent. Not only had they sold MY new car, but they were assaulting me with cliches! "What can I do to make a deeeeeeeeeel for you today?"
Nothing, I told him. I'd made the drive for the silver Miata with an automatic transmission and shiny wheels. "But this black one is in much better condition!" he said in a happy voice. I glanced over at it. Three grand more, the wrong color, the wrong wheels, the wrong year, manual transmission, and no cute little spoiler. I did not want this car.
"But I liked the price on the other one," I replied, planting my feet, and settling into haggle mode.
My mate grabbed my hand. "Didn't you have your heart set on the silver one? Come on, honey, thanks for your time, no, we're not interested," he called out over his shoulder as he raced towards my car. He knows I can't resist a bargain, even if it means settling for something I don't want.
I wonder how low I could have gotten the price down on the black one.
I hope the silver girl's new parents buy her a car cover.
posted by Sanya at 10:47 AM
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