Atomictumor

Oh boy.

Its hagglin’ time!

—

I took the boys down to spend the night with BJ’s folks tonight around noon today, and I was intending to test drive some cars. I was a little apprehensive about the idea, because once you start test driving a car, you’ve moved between that anonymous ‘looking’ phase, and into the more intensive “They got your name and know what you look like” phase. Once you step foot in there and shake the fella’s hand, the game is on. They’re homed in on you.

Blood in the water…

I’d done a lot of research, and as I mentioned a few days ago, was eying the Mazda3. It looks good on paper, maybe not quite as good, mechanically speaking, as the Hondi, but still a ‘best buy’. It had panache, though that the Honda lacked, and you can’t put a price on panache. Or so I hear…

Problem is, looking at something on paper, and getting the the car are two different beasts.

I’ll still be a bit of time before I get BJ’s weregild, probably another week or two, so I wanted to put my feet in the water and test it out. I know my battle plan, I’m not going to sit in their little office, I’m going to drive some freakin cars.

Oh yes.

—

I had been in email contact with a few people at a few dealerships, and went to one on Kingston Pike, simply because the guy I emailed was more helpful (incidentally, its about damn time that car lots wizened up to Al Gore’s Internet, and got a bit more accessible that way). I had debated for several hours this morning with the wisdom of going out there before I have the cash, but I figured it’d help curb my impulsive side, since I don’t have BJ around to hose me down when I get excited. I finally confirmed an appointment with the dude, and made my way out there.

I dropped the kids off, who didn’t want to come (Pigpen being enticed by the call of ‘Dinosaur Planet’ and ‘The Wonder Pets’, and MastaG having better things to do) and took BJ’s dad with me as a wingman. When we showed up, we were early, so we peeked in the RX-8, which is a magnificent beast. The dude showed up after a bit, and we looked at some cars.

—

I’m still gung ho on the stick, but they didn’t have a lot to choose from. My idea is to get a used one costing around 15 grand, but if I had my druthers (they’re around here somewhere) I’d get the sport package, adding an extra .3 liters of engine, and a little bit more pimp. A/C is important, but only because the kids bitch if its not on (I prefer having the windows down, so I also wanted to make sure the window air flow was appropriate). Need to see about switching off the front passenger air bag, so MastaG can sit up front.

Allow me to digress for a moment. I hear people out there “AT, a child should be in the back seat until they’re fully grown”.

Bollocks.

When I was a lad, sitting in the front seat was a rite of passage. It meant that you were the co-pilot. The vast scenery of the American highway system was around you, and you had a front row seat. You had radio control, and legroom.

Risky? Perhaps, but no more so than in 1980. And, knocking firmly on wood (knock knock) I have a… ahem… good driving record. The only two incidents I ever caused were:

1. When I was 16, driving the family minivan down Signal Mountain coming from church, I pulled out in front of a dilapidated 70’s Celebrity. Busted the hell out of the van, big ol’ dent on the driver side hindquarter. I evaded trouble, however, when it was determined that the other guy had a warrant for his arrest, or didn’t have a license, or something that let me slink away.
2. When driving back from an anniversary vacation in Asheville, I pulled (like a dumbass) into the wrong side of the parking lot at the McDonalds, and scraped a car. I swear, on a stack of your favorite holy book, that I did not scratch the metal, I scuffed it, and that there were dents on her car lower than the bumper on our wagon. Our insurance picked up the tab, and I got in trouble (big time) with BJ, who was sitting right there telling me we were going in through the out door…

End digression.

OK, so I was still trying to stick to the original plan with desires in buying a car, so lets fly through the list:

• Manual Transmission: Again: for reals, no deals.
• Pizazz: I dig the car. The interior is very nice looking, its as small as I’ll accept, but it has personality. Personality goes a long way.
• Low Mileage: Totally. I’d prefer under 20,000.
• Not domestic: Not as married to this, but there aren’t many domestic cars that fit point one and two above.
• Not Japanese: Whatever. I’m over that one.
• 3 fairly largish sized bodies: If one of em can sit up front, it shouldn’t be a problem. I just need to be careful not to have a baby. Eaves, Jen, I’m watching you…
• Good gas mileage: This is a biggie. The Mazda stick gets 27 according to the .gov, and 30 according to Consumer Reports, average.
• Kinda eyeing used, but the cost between new and used cars are almost the same, from what I’ve seen shopping around.

—

We peek in some windows, and talk to the guy, who points us to some new 3s, that have a rebate on em bringing them down to $13,690, which ain’t bad. They’re sticks, they have AC, they’re the basic 2.0 liter engine instead of the balls up 2.3, but they’re all 5 speeds. Manual door locks and windows, though. I can live with that, my auto opener for the van didn’t work, so I got along fine without one (I inherited BJ’s, which admittedly has been handy), and the Volvo doesn’t even lock on the passenger side. Both vehicles have power windows, which is handy. Still, manual locks and windows, while a bit backwards in this day and age, are not a dealbreaker.

We loaded up in a black sedan model, and took off, and I wasn’t completely impressed. It was quick, a hell of a lot quicker than the ol Volvo when you hit the gas, but the Volvo has that turbo punch, and I got the feeling that it won out overall. The road noise in the thing was pretty darn loud, and I wasn’t in love with the sight lines. It was comfy, if a hair claustrophobic (BJ’s dad had more of a problem with that than I did). The back seat wasn’t huge, with my seat pushed all the way back, but plenty big enough to accommodate Pigpen’s legs and booster seat, and it didn’t look like it’d be hard to get him in or out of it.

The seats weren’t uncomfy, but not the worn out 20 years old comfy that I drive on now.

All in all, I wouldn’t say I was disappointed, but there were some expectations not lived up to. We thanked the guy, and took off back to BJ’s folks house (with some mexican food).

After dinner, tho, I talked MastaG into coming with me to try some other models. The Civic was a hair smaller, but I wanted to give it a whirl. I also wanted to see if the guy could point me in some other models I hadn’t considered.

When I got there, the same dude helped us out, and we browsed. He evidentially had done some checking around, and had a few more cars to show off.

There was a 2005 Mazda6, a bit bigger, and a wagon. It was red, had the little wagon spoiler, a moonroof, and a rich black leather interior.

Now, the leather, while beautiful, won’t feel so great in the summer time…

It was also an automatic, so I was dubious. We looked on.

There was a couple other 6s, one with a stick in a sedan model. The car was the same red, but had a meh brown canvas interior. It just didn’t look right. We looked on.

We looked at an 03 Nissan Spec V, which made my testosterone, and apparently the little ricer car enthusiast that I’ve always kept locked up, start spiking. It was a four door, stick shift, but I could just see myself getting in trouble with something like that… moving on.

We stopped at a 04 or so Civic coupe. Now, it was a 2 door, which is basically an automatic disqualification, but I wanted to try one out, so we got the keys. The Mazda dude let us go on our own, so MastaG strapped in, and we took off.

Jesus Christ, that thing drove like a banshee with its ass on fire!

My eyes started picking up a maniacal gleam, and MastaG was over there cackling at the sheer acceleration in the beast. We flipped on the radio, and immediately found Metallica playing “Master Of Puppets” on the local station. I think that might be all the car plays. I haven’t liked Metallica in years, and MastaG has never heard em to my knowledge, but we were both shouting “MAS-TER! MAS-TER!”

Yes. I had to put that bastard back. It was telling me to take the hell off, drive to Branson at 120 miles an hour, screaming like a gibbering idiot the whole way. It was a vicious little bastard. It handled like a panther on speed, and left the line like a jet engine. You get glued to the seat, which kinda sucked, because the Civic evidently is not made for a man my size, and I didn’t fit comfortably on the seat. Additionally, the interior was bland.
And dammit, we’d have a bitch of a time getting Pigpen in and out. That’d suck.

We got back, and tried out that first wagon. MastaG was specifically wanting a Mazda, because his favorite Transformer turns into one. We got in it, noticing that it was the sport model, and took off.

It sucked. I don’t know if its because it was an automatic, or what, but it just felt sluggish. It felt like driving the van, just a smaller van. We didn’t even do our whole circuit of Kingston, interstate, Cedar Bluff, Kingston.

We got in a Protege 5, a 2003 precursor to the Mazda3, that advertised 34000, but really had 78000. The guy said they must have hit the wrong number, and 7 being right next to the 3 like it is, I let it slide.

This car was more like it. It wasn’t quite as quick as the Honda, but still made sure you knew that getting you somewhere was its highest priority. The interior, tho, lacked. It had a little aftermarket CD player in it, which I wasn’t tickled about, and appeared that a shoddy job of installing it was done. It had unicorn stickers on the passenger visor mirror. Bleah.

It was a nice drive, tho.

By now it was getting on to 5:30, and the place was closing at 6. He had one more car to show us, a hatchback, 2004 Mazda3 sport edition. It was silver, lacked the moonroof, but was a stick, and had that bigger engine. The interior was nice, and MastaG fell in love with it when I started it up, and the little console display, laser red, flashed “Hello”.

And like Goldilocks before me, I found one that was just right.

The damn thing took off like a rocket. It didn’t have the unbridled, meth addict speed of the Civic, but still took off like the proverbial bat out of hell. The road noise problem which plagued the other 3 was not evident in this car. There was a light on the front saying “Passenger Airback Off” which was great, because I think an airbag would do MastaG more harm than good, and we already discussed my front seat beliefs.

Oh hell yes.

We both agreed, this is it. This is the car right here. The trunk (or whatever it is you call it in a hatchback) has a respectable amount of room, I was plenty comfy, MastaG had all sorts of room, and Pigpen would have plenty in the back, even when his feet can touch the floor.

It was a hatchback, which has never been my first choice, but by jove, it SANG to me. It even had a XM radio console, which I wouldn’t use (10 bucks a month to listen to music I don’t pick out? New things? What?)

Yes, Tumorites, I may have found my car.

—

But now we enter phase two, and one that requires nerves of steel, and ball of, uh, testicular matter (unless you’re a woman, in which case I assume that mammaries work). Now is when I have to descend into that office, and hold my own.

They want $16500 for the car, which is in line with the other dealerships (including Carmax) that I’ve seen. Between you and me, thats acceptable, but I wanna haggle. Consumer Reports tells me that it shouldn’t be more than $15 Gs.

I’ve never haggled professionally, but I’m damn good at it in Monopoly (where my technique is to piss off the other players so they quit and I win by default). I’ve dealt pretty well with this guy. When we were casually discussing payment, I mentioned an insurance check. He enquired as to what kind of insurance (assuming it was car), and I told him, very casually, that my wife had passed away in October, and that we were getting a more sensible vehicle for our family.

Yes, the dead wife card… we’ll give that a play, eh?

He took it in stride, though, giving the necessary condolences, which I casually (I’m casual Joe) thanked, and we moved on.

I have an appointment to meet him Monday. He mentioned that we could trade in the van, finance the rest of the car, and I could pay it off when I get the money. The problem with that plan is that I want to set it up with a huge down payment, and then finance the rest to get a lower monthly payment (I finance 12000, I’ll be paying pretty much what I pay for the van, which I’ve been able to budget, thanks to my friend Country Quicken Jones, but it’d still be nicer to have extra paddin in my pocket).

Thats, unfortunately, where my impulsive nature works against me… I’d rather not have to look for this model of car elsewhere, but at the same time, I’d rather not buy it Monday. If they can work some sort of financial alchemy where I’d be able to refinance the loan after I get the check, it’ll work, otherwise, I’ll take my chances and wait for the check to show.

But first, I’m going to try my hand at this haggling thing, and talk the dude down to about 15000 or so. I’m kinda looking forward to the challenge, to be firm, while at the same time unthreatening, not appearing obstinate. Head games, yes, its time for head games.

Its like a chess match, or something.

Whattaya think?

—

Oh yeah, the astute reader may notice the kids are gone tonight. I’m sticking around the house unless something cool happens in my general vicinity, like a van full of party people take me out to a bonfire or something. I’ve got my Velvet Underground (which OH MY GOD, I’ve been addicted to), my cigars, and my guitar.

I got blisters on my fingers, people..

Yesterday, on the way home from picking him up, MastaG displayed a mastery of the lyrics in David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust masterpiece “Five Years”.

Today, he informed me that he wanted some Velvet Underground on his iPod.

I nominate him, officially, for coolest 10 year old.