This car helped me change gears on the road of life

In the early 2000s I was cruising along the highway to success. I had a fast-moving career as an advertising copywriter, working on some of the hottest products in the nation and sporting an awesome credit rating. Owning a home of my own was a pretty incredible achievement in my family, especially since I bought it all by myself. I was also driving a really awesome dream car, something I never really expected to have. Then it all crashed – at least the market did. 

Unfortunately, I was one of those people who got caught up in the wreckage. I had plenty of money put away for a rainy day, but, like a whole lot of people, I wasn’t expecting a the long, long, long financial drought that would last for years, not months. And as the market tumbled, so went my savings and investments – down, down, down. Even though I had recently begin to do some freelance work, there was little to be had amongst a growing number of writers and a dwindling number of agencies due to cutbacks and closures in what is already known to be one of the most competitive industries in existence. Needless to say (but I will anyway) money was going was going out faster than I could get it to come in. 

I’m also a single mom in state where child support isn’t well-supported by law, and kids have to be fed, clothed and provided with necessities like school supplies, doctor and dental appointments, and fed (yes, I wrote this twice—they’re hungry little boogers). All of which can eat up you money fast.

It wasn’t long before the bills were piled up and while trying to juggle which bills got paid and when, I began to drop a lot of balls. Looming in the way too near distance was the end of the lease on that beautiful car. The car that was enabling me to get to onsite jobs in this sprawling city with no mass transit. A whole new panic set in … how was I going to drive to client locations with nothing to drive.

As the day drew near to return the car, I began to look for something I could afford. So one evening, when it was safely dark enough to (hopefully) not be seen, I drove to the back lot of a major car dealership – you know, that place where people with bad credit can buy a high-mileage, high-risk vehicle for waaaaay more than it’s worth?

I pulled into the lot and parked as far away from the sales office as possible. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I just wanted practice being a failure, alone in my own pile of misery while trying not to cry those damn tears of hot shame. Too late. Here came the slick sales guy. It was like he was a hawk spying me in the dark. He was one of those really good-looking guys with that easy manner of over-confidence. 

“Look at him,” I thought, “he thinks he’s god’s gift to all humanity.  He’s going to try and charm me into buying some clunker thing that I know I can’t afford. Ha! I’ve got this guy’s number – I’m not falling for his schtick – I’ll stick to my goal.”

“Hi, ” he said – oh so nicely. 

“Yes. No. Look,” I said, “let me just be honest, I don’t even know what I can afford, or if I can afford anything …” and then the whole story just spilled out about my lack of work, money, hope, future, blah, blah, yada, yada.

“Tell you what, let’s go into my office and figure out what you can afford.” As we walked through a sort of showroom there was a single small car on display – an old blue Toyota in mint condition.

“What a cool car,” I said as much to him as just thinking out loud. He stopped and we stood in silence for a moment, then he told me how as a boy his family had moved from India to a country in Africa and that his dad had that very same model of car. He shared a couple of his memories of riding in the back seat with the windows down and hot sandy air blowing across his face.  As we walked away from the car all wrapped up in his memories, I felt an odd safety.

Sitting in his office he asked what my finances were. I laughed, which made him chuckle. Then he got serious. “Look, I could probably put you in a car that you can’t afford, even if it were the cheapest one the lot. But that won’t help you get out of this mess, it will only dig you into a deeper hole.”

He went on to suggest that I figure out how much money I could gather for a car, even if it was only $1,000 dollars, then start to look for a used car that an private owner was selling. That, he said, was what he did. Get a decent car that gets you where you need to go. No payments. I was in awe. Here was a car salesman who was unselling me. I left there that night feeling something I hadn’t in months – lighter. A huge weight had been lifted. On the way home a plan began to form. What if I bought an older car? Would that really be so bad? Ultimately, that’s what I did. It wasn’t maybe as cool as that little blue car, but it was a BMW I paid $1,500 for. It helped me navigate the next few years while I built my freelance visit, and I ultimately sold it for $1,200 to a young man who wanted move his life in a new direction.

A couple of years ago, I bought a Prius V on the good credit side of that same dealership. When I took the car in for its first service, I wandered around the big shiny showroom and as I rounded a corner, there to my surprise, was that little blue car. I couldn’t help it. Tears welled up, but they weren’t the ones of hot shame from so long ago. Nope, they were tears of gratitude for one moment that had shifted the whole direction of my attitude, and life.

I often think back to that night, the sales guy, and his philosophy of things and money. For him, not having a car payment was about his ability to travel the world. For me, it was about the ability to get in the driver’s seat of my life and turn my situation around. I don’t know where that guy is today. I never saw him again. But wherever he is, I wish him happy travels on the road of life.