We don’t always choose the perfect car
Tales about the cars that ran forever are common, but what about our not-so-good choices?
What’s the worst car someone has tried — or successfully managed to — sell you?
Like many, I grew up in a one-car household. My dad worked shifts, so it wasn’t hard to sort out a schedule between my parents for what had to get done. There was rarely such a thing as a ride to school, but that thirty miles uphill in both directions wasn’t gonna walk itself.
My father was a devoted AMC man. I grew up thinking there were two kinds of cars: AMC cars and cars that idiots bought.
When our 1966 Rambler wagon sagged for the final time in its 10-year life, we got the next one: a 1976 Matador wagon.
My father didn’t give a damn about power windows or comfy seats or radios. He wanted the biggest V8 engine he could get so he could haul wood home from the cottage.
When you get a new car, the old one is gasping for breath but, if you’re like my father, you must see that final breath to believe you got your money’s worth from the old beast.
That meant we became a twocar family for the first time during that overlap: Dad drove old Betsy to work or to pick us up from jobs because my mother refused to drive it. She drove the new car.
With a three-on-the-tree shift and a steering wheel the size of a hula hoop, my father would pat the dash and whisper sweet nothings into Betsy’s vents to get her to start. Nobody else could do it.
And then Betsy finally died. Of course, we’d gotten used to having two cars. It was decided Dad would dig around and find a cheap little beater to replace her.
I was dating a boy whose father owned a dealership. He tried to get my father to buy a used Renault Le Car.
He pushed hard, but politely, in an I-know-I’m-dating-your-daughter kind of way. I knew the chances of my father buying a French car were approximately zero.
Soon after, through another guy he knew, my father found the love of his life: a used Dodge Ramcharger.
My sister dated a guy who bought a Lada. A new one. When he came over to show her, he opened the passenger door and the top hinge let go.
When my kids were young, I had an eager sales rep try to sell me a Pontiac Aztek. He offered to deploy the tent. I politely declined. I don’t need to say any more about the Aztek.
A friend of a friend bought an older Subaru wagon 25 years ago. It had rust but still passed a certification. A year later, he ran an ad to sell it, and the prospective buyer asked him to drive it to her, which he did. Sure, there was a little more rust, but nothing two cans of silver spray paint and a dark evening couldn’t hide. She bought it.
There’s a reason we beg you never to buy a used car without an independent inspection.