Scratched, rusting, faded, dented- my car isn’t exactly show-room material. After spending an hour out in the sun (which I loved), washing my car, I took a good look at my handiwork and realized that I now had a shinier scratched, rusting, faded, dented car. No amount of soap and water was going to transform it into a top-of-the-line, luxury convertible…
When I was 18, I decided I would buy myself a car with the hard-earned, carefully-saved money in my savings. I wanted to be able to drive somewhere without asking to borrow someone’s car and with the thought of moving out lingering in the back of my mind, I knew I had to shell out the cash. I know I could have asked my parents for help, but the independent woman developing within me know that this was my responsibility.
Off I went to the dealership, knowing the bare minimum about cars. In hindsight, I was ripped off greatly with the price of my used Camry, but til this day I don’t get angry about it. I probably would have gotten a much better price had I brought along someone more educated in purchasing cars. I also neglected to ask for a car history report, which proved to be a huge oversight as the day after driving the car off the lot, it died at a traffic light, needing a brand new alternator (which I successfully demanded the dealership pay for!). I really was the prime example of a stereotypical female unversed in cars.
My overpriced, beat-up sedan carpools the two boys I take care of during the week, totes groceries from the store to the house, transported all my belongings during the one year I moved a total of six times and brings me everywhere I need to go on a daily basis. It suffered bumps on curbs, a sideswipe from a deer, three fender benders, a dog mistaking the back seat for its front lawn and an unfortunate run in with my own garage door.
Especially living in an area where luxury vehicles are the majority, myfunction over fashion car seems not to fit in to the motif of this town. “Glamorous” is not a descriptive word for my car- Its top doesn’t roll down, the interior is a dingy cloth instead of soft leather, and the floors are covered with extra pairs of sneakers, crumbs from the kids’ snacks and stray packages of disinfectant wipes. But, six years later and still having payments to be made, my car continues to do exactly what I bought it to do. Maybe one day, when finances aren’t so tight and my bills are easy to cover, I might have a fancy new car, but for now, as long as this car that I paid for all on my own safely brings me from point A to point B, that’s all that really matters to me.