There are two kinds of people in this world: the ones who care about cars and the ones who don’t. I place myself wholeheartedly in the latter group. If it has four decent tires and doesn’t make strange noises, I’m down with it. Of course, power windows and a CD player are just icing on the cake. Husband is the quintessential American guy – all about the horsepower, the engine, the mileage, the aerodynamics – not to mention certain makes and models. Not only do we not agree about the importance of a vast knowledge of cars – we also disagree about the price. For instance, I am not interested in brand new cars, nor am I willing to spend more for a car than I did for my first house. Neither do I see the point in even thinking about buying the next car before the doors have fallen off the one I’m driving. As a kid, my uncle and aunt had a new car every few years. It was all about appearances. As for the rest of the family, we didn’t have enough money to worry about appearances. My folks had a Rambler station wagon and their main concern was that it stopped when you pressed the brake pedal. So, I know we’re headed for a marital summit when one of our two cars stops running. My instant response is to hit a local used car lot, tell the salesperson how much I’m willing to spend, have said car driven to the sales office door, sign the papers and drive off. Buying a car is like going to the dentist – occasionally necessary, not ever particularly pleasant and best taken care of in as little time as possible. Last year, it was my car that needed replacing. We drove around most of Northern and Central Ohio looking at lots. Husband thought he’d landed one and dragged me to Medina to look at it. “What do you think?” he asked anxiously. “It’s fine,” I said. “Well, if you don’t like it, say so,” he said, launching into a Car & Driver-like analysis of the car, what it had, what it didn’t have, what we could expect of it … after 30 seconds, my mind started to wander. He haggled over the price. The salesperson needed to come down a few thousand. He wasn’t going to. So they both looked at me. Husband took me over to a corner and whispered, “He’s probably right on with the price. It’s not unreasonable.” “I don’t want it for a few thousand more,” I said, heading back out the lot. I’m not emotional about cars. I haven’t yet seen one I couldn’t live without. A few days and several lots later, I said, “Let’s buy this one. It’s blue. It has a CD player and I don’t want to look anymore.” And so I now drive a nice blue car with a CD player and power windows. Everything else is detail. Then, rather unexpectedly (especially to our family budget), Husband’s car died shortly after Christmas. He immediately went online to start his search. I didn’t want another car payment, so I remained in denial until after the first of the year. Even then, I didn’t want to enter The Car Zone. “This is my price,” I said, offering a number as I looked up from the checkbook. “What about this one?” Husband said. “That’s more than my number,” I said. So this dialogue continued through photos of Fords in Fairlawn and Buicks in Bellefontaine, on to Volkswagens in Vandalia and Mitsubishis in Mentor. “Buy local,” I said. Husband focused like a laser beam on Wayne County, back and forth between the two finalists. “Buy SOMETHING,” I said. Apparently, for a man, buying a car takes more thought, more soul searching, more research and study than changing jobs, buying a house, taking a wife or deciding to have children. Finally – the new addition to the family pulled into the driveway. Husband was beaming as if he’d just won the Masters, the Heisman and the Nobel Prize. Eureka! He had found it! So, you’re wondering: what did he settle on? Our new car is a four-door, gray car. And it has a CD player. Everything else, after all, is detail. Wooster Weekly News columnist Tami Lange can be reached via e-mail at tam108@hotmail.com.
