The last fortune cookie I opened, read, "When life hands you a lemon, make
lemonade." Right. When the lemon has a broken tailgate and leaks
anti-freeze all over your driveway, then what's a girl to do?
I owned my first car five years ago. For about five hours. It was a VW
Beetle, lime green, and it was love at first sight. And then I got inside,
and the floor fell through. Bye bye love.
Three months ago, I decided to move on, and I ventured once again into the
shady world of secondhand car dealers. So now I own a gold Mazda pickup
truck, c. 1987. Let the fun begin.
My first mistake was to admit how little I knew. "You know, I lost money on
this truck," the dealer said to me, and I nodded, feeling his pain.
"Roll-em-back-Robert," they call him.
We had agreed on a price earlier, $2,400 (no tailgate, but he assured me one was on the way. "I'll mail it you," he said). Then he offered me a
one-year/12,000 miles warranty for $500. Thinking I was sensible and full
of foresight, I immediately accepted, without even seeing the paperwork.
Mistake number two. Turns out the engine has to explode before the warranty puts on its blue tights and red cape and flies into action.
Mistake number three: While I considered the $500 warranty a sound
investment, I declined to pay an outside mechanic $50 to check out the truck. He probably would have noticed that the oil wasn't even checked before I
received the truck. And I wouldn't have had to wait until the ground was
covered with snow to notice radiator fluid oozing onto the road.
Mistake number four: I am a woman. Okay, a chick, in carspeak. If you want
to be taken seriously by a dealer, being female doesn't help.
So, I would not make mistakes one, two or three again. Mistake number four
is a different matter. So here's the chick's guide to coping with a piece
of shit on four wheels.
Two weeks ago it dropped to 30 below overnight. My gas pedal froze down, so that
when I drove, it was like that scene in Child's Play, where Chuckie sits on
the gas pedal. But what do you do at midnight on Friday when your truck is
broken and it's two weeks till payday? Try the local bar. Make friends with
a mechanic. Smile a lot and act really dumb. Works every time.
And then it snows something like six feet, and you're trying to dig your
car out of the driveway. But don't worry, because here comes the mailman!
Smile and sigh as you see him (it's a she-thing), and if you're lucky,
he'll put down his mail bag and shovel with you.
Granted, if I had not made some of the other mistakes, this politically
incorrect and morally reprehensible behavior might have been unnecessary.
But when your car had its prime almost a decade ago, car trouble is
unavoidable.
The tailgate did, in fact, arrive by mail. Alright, it was UPS, but it was still pretty damn exciting. I ripped the package open like it was Christmas day, convinced that my troubles were over and that Santa Claus did in fact exist. Well, turns out Santa's got a sense of humor.
Only 24 hours before, old Roll-em-back and I had had a nice little chat about my tailgate. He had two tailgates -- one was a delicate shade of gold that would perfectly compliment my truck, the other was black, but new, and in better condition than the golden one. Being cautious, I went for black. Except that the tailgate that arrived was red and beat up. At a rough guess, the average UPS guy probably delivers no more than one tailgate in a given day, so I can only assume it was meant for me.
But truck cosmetics was the least of my worries. I got the truck checked out, and was told it would probably not explode
within the twelve months. Thus a $500 warranty to no avail. And then I
worked out how much I had spent on my truck since the purchase:
- Tailgate fitting: $50
- Tailgate painting: $100 (well, I haven't spent it yet, but if
I ever want a matching truck, that's how
much it will cost me)
- New stereo: $150 (truck doesn't lock, so the stereo was
stolen)
- Oil change, anti-freeze
trouble, various belts, seals, etc. $320
- New radiator: $200 (a bargain due only to a budding friendship
with the local mechanic)
Total $820
I called the dealer in a rage, but he was mysteriously out of
the office. I called old Roll-em-back more than I called home -- "Yes,
Emma, your number is all over this office," they would tell me when I
called. Ha, ha. It was time to get tough, so I consulted a lemon lawyer. After ten phone calls to my good friend Roll-em-back went unreturned, I faxed him a piece of my mind. My warranty was
refunded, and I received another $150 toward the repairs.
The snow continues to fall, however, and I continue to be grateful for
every day without car trouble. But I am now so attached to Goldenbutt (as
my truck is affectionately known) that it would be hard to let it go.
I met a new mechanic yesterday. His name's Scott, and he helped me out with
a flat tire. No charge. "If you ever need air, you know where to find me,"
he said. Now that's car talk.
Or, car savvy the hard way ...
Tripod's Guide to Buying a Car
The Pickup Truck Homepage
Edmund's Automobiles Buyer's Guides
Woman Motorist
The Autoshop Online
Cyber Cruzin'
