Test-driving

Yesterday Daddy and I got to do something we've been meaning to do for ages--go test drive cars. It's time for me to buy one. Now, anything new is beyond my price range, but still, we've got to have something to compare the handling of any potentially buyable car to, right?

So yesterday after undecorating the church from Missions Conference, and after a coffee-and-cinnamon-roll run to Ruby K's with the sister that culminated in a crossword puzzle and me learning Sudoku, Dad and I hopped in the truck and went to the Ford dealer in Espanola.

The Ford dealer in Espanola was closed, no clue why. It was a deceptively bright and sunny day with a cold wind. Let me assure you, that wind was cold and windy. So we wandered about the lot, looking over price tags and makes, until we couldn't take it any more and took refuge in the truck.

Then we went down the street to the GM dealer. It was open, and moreover there was an excellent salesman to help us. He drove us around the lot in a new bug (yes!), which helped with the cold wind, and then let us test-drive a Cobalt. I liked it, even if it was white. The steering wheel was one of those ultra-adjustable telescoping up-and-down types, and unfortunately when I got in it was adjusted so I couldn't actually see the speedometer, but these things happen. So we retrieved a brochure about Cobalts and went over to the Lotaburger to fortify ourselves with cokes and fries.

Having more or less exhausted Espanola, we went on to Santa Fe and stopped at the Mazda place. We got out and were promptly greeting by a small gentleman with a raspy voice and a thick accent. He found out what we wanted, and left us out in the cold wind while he got the key to our chosen Mazda 3. He came back, eventually, and--the car wouldn't start. He went back inside for a different key. It was cold. And windy. This one started. It wasn't red either, but at least it started. So the salesman hopped in the back and Daddy hopped in the passenger's seat and I hopped into the driver's seat, and the salesman began monologuing.

Driving is not, actually, one of my madder skills. I can do it; I even like it, under certain circumstances, which usually involve no traffic and a vague familiarity with the vehicle and route. I had neither in this instance. I pulled out of the driveway and had the option to go right to Cerrillos Road or left into a neighborhood I'd never explored before. There was no question there, let me assure you! St. Jude is the patron saint of impossible ventures, and one of my favorite Santa Fe bumper stickers is, "Pray for me, St. Jude, I drive on Cerrillos Road." Yeah.

So I went left into the unknown neighborhood, trying to negotiate the seat, the ugly display, the wheel, the road, the jumpy gas pedal, the jumpier brake, the traffic, and still make assenting noises whenever the monologue paused. There was something complicated about the gear shift, where if you did something the number one would pop up on the display--see? Yes, I saw (though what did he do to make that happen and what did it mean??)--and if you did it again it would change to a number two, and you could also make it change to a three and back again. Daddy, blessings on his head, attended to the monologue. Finally I found what looked like might be a cul-de-sac and turned around in it. I caught my breath and started back.

I had enough attention to spare this time to ask what about the gear shift? It turns out it's a sort of manual transmission, where if it's pushed all the way left you can push it up a notch and make it stay in whatever gear you like. Um, cool. How do you take it back down a gear? Oh, you push it down. Um...can I put it back in automatic please? Okay, push it right. I pushed it right and left it there.

My primary objection to the Mazda 3 was how very ugly it was inside. The outside is adorable, so I found that disappointing. It's edgy. It's very cool and technically with it, but I thought it was ugly. It's the sort of car, I think, that a deep-inner-city skater guy would get a real charge out of. There's nothing evil about it, but we definitely had a personality conflict. So I parked it, got a brochure on it, and left.

Then we went to the Ford place on the edge of town. It was so nice. There was a '56 T-bird parked in the showroom, and old black-and-white car pictures on the walls, and adorable little girls playing while their parents looked at an SUV. There was also a pleasant salesman. He wore Wranglers and said in a homely Texas accent that he was from Abilene, and he even had the same last name as ours, spelled how we spell it. We had a great talk about Scots and tartans.

He answered all our questions about the Ford Focus. He asked if we'd like to try one--we certainly would! --and pulled it up to the front door so we wouldn't have to trek through the wind. He brought it up and it was red. I hadn't even hinted that I liked red. I took it as a Sign.

After that, we still had a bit of afternoon left, so we went to the Honda place next door. The sales guys were obnoxious. The Accord handled just fine, though the display was disturbingly high-tech, but the sales guys were definitely annoying. They didn't have any red ones to try, either. So the guy answered all our questions, sometimes seriously, sometimes flirtatiously, and sometimes ironically (I think he thought it was funny), ending with a totally random emotional appeal --"give me a chance!"--which we said something nice but noncommittal to--and we took a brochure and left.

Thence we got gas for the good little pickup, went to Borders for coffee and a book which had been on sale last week, but I hadn't bought it because I was short on time, and then yesterday it wasn't on sale anymore and I didn't want it $27-worth, so I still didn't buy it, and then I bought food coloring at Michael's and came home.