Pimp My Whip?
I am buying a new car Whip. {I have taken to calling it my Whip in response to the Nearly’s assertion that I have the personality and sense of humor of a 85-year-old former vaudevillian. “Whip” is what the kids these days—or at least the people on MTV’s “Cribs”—are calling an automobile.}
Anyway, the new whip I am getting was going to be all tricked out, custom-like, with side airbags. They were rather expensive, but I figured if I didn’t get them I would surely get into an accident and waste all of that peaceful time in traction cursing myself, when I could be developing interesting bedsores.
Unfortunately, it turns out that there are no cars of my preferred make and model with side airbags within a 5 state radius, and to do a factory order would take at least 10 weeks, by which time my financing will have expired. The idea of 10 more weeks of finagling rides to and from work or rousing the Nearly at an ungodly hour to ferry me about is repugnant to me. Also, I am wildly excited about my new whip, as I have never had a new car before, and have never had any car made so recently that it had windows without those little roll-y-down crank things. Also, my new whip has a CD player, and antilock brakes, and air conditioning. I believe you can even lock and unlock the car by merely pressing a button on your key chain.
Here, for your amusement, is a brief survey of the cars I have had in the past:
1: My mother’s divorce-precipitated-crisis vehicle: a red 1980-something Toyota sports car. By the time I got it, whatever held the power steering fluid had rusted through, and every morning before I drove to high school I had to empty an entire bottle of power steering fluid into its gaping maw to get me through the day. Also, at some point the key broke off in the ignition, meaning that the only way to start the car was by inserting the remaining key-stub. This also meant that I could not lock the car, as the stub would not let me back in again. {Now, of course, it is clear that I should have had another key made so that I could have at least locked the doors, but at the time I was too stoned to think of that.} Some hoodlums who lived across the street took to breaking in at night and looting my poor car—notably, they ripped a speaker out and once rifled through my cds, stealing all of my hip hop albums and leaving the rest. Helpless to stop them, I left a dish of candy on the dashboard at night with a note that said “Help yourselves—Larceny is hungry work!” I hoped to shame them into leaving my car alone.
This is how I learned that sarcasm is not a thief-deterrent.
2: My grandfather’s 1980-something American Car. {I don’t know anything else about it, being the sort of girl who was once asked what kind of car she had and responded “beige.”} This car had one headlight, no heat or air conditioning, and brakes that insisted on the consideration of prior notice before they were asked to perform. If one asked them to brake just on a whim, for a child who had scampered into the street, for instance—they would simply refuse, on principle. In addition, this car would shake alarmingly when asked to do anything in hot or cold weather. It was very high-strung: a bit of a hothouse flower, if you know what I mean.
3. A 1980-something Toyota Corolla stick shift, named “Man O’ War” for his tendency to lurch forward suddenly like a racehorse eager to leave the gate. A good car, actually, Man O’ War even had a tape deck. This past July he started getting very stubborn about shifting gears, and I eventually had to use two hands to move into 5th. We consulted with a mechanic who said it would cost approximately what he was worth to fix the transmission, so I took him out back and shot him.
Which brings us back to the present, and my much anticipated first new car—finally, I will know if those “New Car Smell” air fresheners actually smell like New Car!
My question is: do you all have side airbags? Front airbags are standard, so I will have those, and if it turns out I could get my whip in 3 weeks instead of 3 months (not to mention save a fair amount of money and retain my current financing) by simply forgoing the side airbags, I am very tempted to do so.
Is this folly?
Updated to add: Well, folly or not, that is what I am doing. The broker I am dealing with (whom I love as he is getting me an exceedingly low price) just called and said it would be more like 12 weeks. Frankly, what with all the infertility-related waiting I have been doing, more waiting does not appeal.
Also, it turns out that there is only ONE of my car (even without the airbags) in the 5-state area and I cannot help but feel it was meant to be. It is in a different color than that I had originally chosen, but who argues with fate?
I’m taking it. My new whip will be here next week.
So, having gutted this post of its ostensible purpose, and having enjoyed Molly and April’s comments so much, I am changing my question:
What was your first car like?
14 Comments
Never had side air bags. Then again, I’ve never had a new Whip either.
(By the way, it’s funny – my husband always tells me that I’m prematurely 80 years old as well)
You’ll enjoy hearing about my first car. 1978 Plymouth Volare Station Wagon the size of a small continent (and yes, my car was older than me). It was also a beautiful shade of yellow, and we quickly termed it “The Beastly Bloated Banana.” This piece of crap had no air conditioning (unless you count the hole in the floor of the back seat) (nope, not kidding. My friend stepped right through it once, and you could see a good square foot of street flying by through it — we later took to covering it with plywood), only AM radio, the good ol’ coat-hanger antenna, and a bench front seat that required the whole thing to move in one piece (which was troublesom to anyone sitting in the front seat with me, since I’m short).
My elder cousin had The Beast before me, so he did his best to pimp this beauty out. He had bought decals that said “Deluxe” “Special Edition” and “4 x 4″ and put them in appropriate-looking places on the car. I remember driving through McDonald’s once and the drive-through guy asking me, “Is that really a 4 x 4 station wagon?” Unfortunately, no.
But at least it randomly stalled in the middle of intersections. That made it all worthwhile.
Another octagenerian in training here.
My first -I was seventeen and it was a 1989 white Ford escort with a tinted sun roof and pimped out teal and hot pink pinstriping (it was a gift from my great aunt). It was horrible, but got great gas mileage.
Next was the truck that was a stick that I had no idea how to drive when I first bought it.
I bought my first new whip in January ‘04 – and some bitch ass thugs stole it from my driveway before the FIRST PAYMENT WAS EVEN DUE ON IT. I had it three weeks – and then the body shop had it six because the insurance company wouldn’t total it out.
My first car, which I purchased with the proceeds of having worked in a sausage factory all summer long, was a 1982ish car that I’m quite sure none of you are old enough to remember. It was made by Chrysler, and was called a TC3. Told you. It was the sport model of another Chrysler classic called the ‘Omni’… still not ringing any bells? Well, essentially it was Chrysler’s version of a Volkswagon Rabbit… anyway… the TC3 was a knock-off of the Volkswagon Jetta… which back then looked NOTHING like the Jetta today. Anyway, it was a four-speed stick shift… and my memories of it include having really really bad sex in the back of it, with my now ex-husband… and then teaching him how to drive a stick. An equally disappointing experience.
My first new set of wheels was a pretty nice car actually… it was a 1991 Acura Integra… GREAT car… I ended up giving it to my sister three years ago when I bought my Mini Cooper… which I ADORE! AWESOME little car… and it has the British Flag on the roof which always makes everybody grin and give me really bad Austin Powers impersonations. It’s not so much like driving a car as walking a puppy. Oh… and it has six airbags in it.
A 1980-something red Audi. It was a total yuppie first car and an unusual model. Thing is, I wasn’t a very good driver. My friends in high school wouldn’t even let me be the designated driver, which should tell you something. When we (my sister and I) first got it, the radio didn’t work. So we sang everywhere we went. I sing far worse than I drive.
Since it was a fairly distinctive car, there was no hiding the fact that I rear-ended someone on the one road leading to high school(an 80-year old who stopped for a blinking yellow-totally not my fault even though I was changing my shoes at the time but the police and I differ on our interpretation of those facts). I’m pretty sure my classmates had a bet on how long it would take for my first accident. Don’t know who won though. The funny thing is that the radio was still playing after the accident. I think it was the only working part since the insurance company totalled it out.
Probably for the best I no longer had that car as I was also no longer able to be spotted so easily driving to the beach during school hours.
A 1980 Dodge Diplomat. A boxier vehicle was never made. Also it had 8-track cassette player! It was funny, because sometimes it had to change tracks in the middle of a song. I had a stack of 8-tracks that I found at a yard sale – Billy Joel, Elton John, stuff like that. Now tell me I wasn’t cool?
Oh yeah, I guess I wasn’t such a great driver back then, either. I rear-ended my friends dad the first month I had the car. I was mortified!!
Fertile Octogenarian here! Ha, ha, just kidding, guess which part is not true?
First car: 1987 Renault Alliance. Quite possibly the worst car ever made. Hell is where the mechanics are French!
On the upside, I owe everything I know about cars to that piece of shyte. And I know a lot about cars.
I laughed, I cried – great post! And congrats on the new Whip.
I bought my first car right after finishing college, with a loan from my parents. A 1992 Mazda Miata. I lurved it. Got it right at the end of the summer, drove back down to Baltimore with a bikini top on – and got myself a lovely seatbelt sunburn for my trouble. (And a few honks from truckers ;-) Ah, to be young and stupid again!
Totalled it three months later, skidding into oncoming traffic in the rain. Very, very sad.
I would have loved to get another convertible, but couldn’t put my parents through the agony (I had been in the hospital for some indeterminate number of days which I do not remember). So I got a Toyota Tercel. Which stalled. Regularly. By the time I convinced the dealership that it was a lemon and they should take it back, I had to keep my foot on the accelerator all the time so that it wouldn’t conk out – so I was stopping using the emergency break and clutch. Not so safe!
Traded that in for a Honda Civic hatchback. Loved it. But not as much as my convertible… so that’s what I got for a graduate school graduation present from my hubby.
We were worried about having a convertible with a baby. Good thing I didn’t let that stop me!
Late 80s Mazda 626 manual – it was my dad’s. He had a terrible time teaching me to drive stick, though, mostly because we lived in the hills and he thought it was important that I be able to drive there. Which is fine, but it was a bad place to learn. I got better when my sister took me out in her very flat neighborhood, and then much better when Dad went out of town and left me the car, and I practiced on my own.
Okay, so that was more about driving than the car. Eh.
Whoo. Your story reminded me of my first (and only) car, which I have un-affectionately dubbed the Frankensaab. It was three junkyard Saabs unnaturally hewn together by my father and the stoner mechanic he patronized. There are many horrifying stories I could tell about this car, which guzzled oil at the rate of about a quart a day. But the worst was one time when I was driving some children I was babysitting to go get some ice cream, the rusted front axle broke, and the left front wheel fell off.
I hate driving. Thank god for New York public transit.
Do you mean which was our first car that only we owned, all by ourselves vs. one we had to share with someone else, like, say, a lousy, evil, pansy assed ex-husband?
Okay, after my divorce, I bought my very first car. It was a forest green Toyota Corolla and I loved that car. I mean, really loved it. I had never loved an inanimate object before. I paid the sticker price for it. Can you believe how stupid, I mean, inexperienced I was? Who pays sticker price for a car? A sucker, that’s who.
I took my first interstate road trip in that car. I took it everywhere. It was my freedom. I had only had it for about a year when, one horrible night as I was sitting in my living room watching TV, I heard the loudest, most devastating crash outside. I ran out on the porch, and my car was gone! Simply gone. In it’s place sat another car, lights flashing, motor running, half up on the curb. I slowly walked out to the car, and there was some bleary eyed driver who turned out to be a drunken Russian who couldn’t speak English. My sister called the police. But, where was my car? I looked down the street, and there it sat, an entire block away, in the middle of the road. The sheer force of impact had catapulted my precious darling all that way. Soon the police arrived, and then the tow truck. I gathered all my things out of the car before they took her away, naively thinking that I would see her again after a visit to the body shop.
Oh no. She was completely destroyed. She couldn’t be repaired. If only I had known that I would never see her again, I would have given her a hug, or something. I never even got to say goodbye. Not only that, but the insurance company only gave me about 75% what I had paid for her (remember the sticker price? remember that she was a year old?) I found the same color/make of car through a broker for a price I could afford. It was also a year old. But it was never the same. Every time I got in that car I thought, “You are an imposter. You are not my car.”
I’ve had other cars since then, but I’ve never been able to love again.
1991 Ford Tempo in “dove-gray” – It was a hand-me-down from my mother who bought herself a new whip. I think she had bought it used as well. No airbags, no tape deck, no A/C, but it did have a tape deck!
It never would keep a muffler on. Everytime we replaced one, it’d fall off. In high school I never put more than $10 of gas in it at a time, no matter how low it was – I would drive on fumes for days.
I drove that bad boy for 8 years until we finally sold it to some poor high school student. I think it had over 160,000 miles on it (we once drove it from MN to VA and back – and made it!).
Der…I mean no airbags, no CD PLAYER, no A/C, but it did have a tape deck.
But I broke the lighter once by trying to plug in the car adapter for a cd player. It wouldn’t fit and busted the lighter right through the plastic on the dashboard.
‘76 Plymouth Duster, 6 banger. I bought it for a thousand bucks (actually my Dad did), while I was living in Wichita, from a drag queen who was trying to finance his/her pageant run. That’s where the good memories end.
I stopped driving it 20 years ago. It’s still sitting on my mom and dad’s farm, rusting away.
I don’t know the year (yes, that’s how long ago it was), but it was a yellow pinto with PANELLING. A gorgeous piece.
Congrats on the new wheels!