That Damn Car

I had recently started a new job as a network engineer for a startup. They were paying handsomely for talent, which I had in abundance. Now that I was making “good” money, Boompa suggested I should get a better car.
The $300–$500 fixer-uppers I kept going through had a habit of leaving me stranded on the side of the road at some pretty inopportune times.

He wasn’t wrong.
But I don’t think he was exactly right either.

He drove me up to the Chrysler dealership in Culpeper.
He’d just bought himself a new car from them—a silver Dodge Intrepid.

We got up to the dealership and started looking around the lot.

“You should have something fun and sporty,” Boompa said.

Okay.

He picked out a red convertible for me, a Chrysler Sebring JXI.
It had a six-disc CD changer, a tan cloth top, and looked amazing with the top off.

Looking back on it, he picked that car for himself.
That was the car he wanted, not the one I would’ve picked.

Still… it was a cool car.

He did all the talking with the dealership.
I don’t think he did a great job, but I didn’t know any better at the time.
I just signed the paperwork where they pointed and drove it home.

I was now the proud owner of a loan from Second Bank and Trust.
That was the local community credit union we banked with at the time.

I drove it back to Granny and Boompa’s place—since that’s where I was living at the time.
It was home enough and a good stop gap that wasn’t around my parents.
It was shortly before I got my own apartment in Charlottesville.

The car drove like a sports boat.
It would go real fast in a straight line, but it couldn’t corner worth shit.

I drove it over to my girlfriend Eliza’s place.
She had a summer job at Kings Dominion, an amusement park just outside Richmond which was about an hour away.

Not only did she hook Dirk and me up with season tickets that summer,
she got us VIP line-skip passes, too.

We must’ve ridden The Anaconda a thousand times that summer.
I had such a love for roller coasters back then.

Still do, honestly.

That car ended up financially breaking me.

It wasn’t the car payment itself—though that was high.

$432.33 every month.
I had a payment booklet.
I had to tear out a slip, include a check in the envelope, and get it postmarked by the 3rd of each month.

I could afford the payment. Barely. It was tough.
It was like buying a beater car every month.

The real thing that broke me wasn’t the car payment, it was how often that car broke. Or I should say, how often I broke that car.

More than any of the beater cars I drove.

Every time I hit a pothole, I needed a new wheel.
It had ultra-low-profile Dunlop tires and 18” cast aluminum rims.
They cracked every fucking time. The shredded the tire, every fucking time.

$1,000 per wheel.
$400 for a new tire.

Every.

Fucking.

Time.

And that was just the car and maintenance. There were other costs too, so many other costs.

I would drive that thing scary fast on the highway, routinely going 140+ mph on Route 64.
That highway had a 65 mph speed limit most of the way, 75 in certain stretches.

I racked up several reckless driving tickets.
Each one cost about $1,000.

Let’s talk about insurance.

When they code you as a young male under 25, it’s expensive no matter the car.
Because of the loan, I had to carry full comprehensive coverage—that doubled the price.
I already had a few speeding tickets—double again.
Each reckless driving ticket? Yep. Each one doubled the price again and again.

I was paying $2,500 a month in insurance.

Thankfully, gas was cheap back then.

That fucking car.
I loved it. I hated it.
But I loved it.