The Decade Of "Zoom"

It was the Winter of 1989. I had a reliable, if not boring, vehicle already that was trouble-free. However, I started considering having another one in my life pretty much from the moment I saw the first advertisement. It was a two-page spread inside the front cover of a magazine that was flipping through. It was, and still is, the first time I took notice of each feature and detail, every carefully designed curve and even the color. "Coming soon, to a driveway near you", it read. I cut the advertisement out and tacked it behind my company-provided Macintosh SE30 against the office wall. I memorized it.

I never made any proclamation or announcement about it. It's not like I dialed the company-wide intercom system and said "Attention co-workers: One day, this will be mine." In fact, honestly it never occurred to me that I'd be able to set aside that kind of spare income. Affording a "second car", when one is living in a studio apartment and thinks of steamed rice and a Pepsi as "dinner", seems beyond nuts ... it becomes ridiculous.

But when the whole "dot com" age erupted and I was making ... well, ridiculous money, suddenly the numbers seemed within reach. And since the vehicle had proven not just popular but almost instantly "classic", I was intrigued. Captivated. Driven. And so it was that one Sunday morning I stopped thinking and started doing.

When the salesperson approached, it was as tho' I was not there. I was alright with being ignored - he didn't know that I'd be the buyer and the extra time allowed me to check out the bells and whistles without being "sold to". When it was made obvious that the purchase was mine to make, we went on a test drive. (It was, in my eyes, unnecessary. I knew as I saw the car that I'd be buying it but I felt it was only polite to go through the motions.)

I hadn't driven a stick in several years but the gears were close together (aka "a short throw") and the clutch was tight and low, just as I'd always imagined it would be. I drove us onto the freeway as the salesperson started with a pitch that I remember verbatim. "The passenger airbag can be turned off by putting your ignition key in this slot here, making it safe for a baby seat", he said, sounding satisfied with himself. "Right" , I said as I slipped easily into fifth gear, "because this is, after all, such a great 'Mommy' car." I could feel him look over at me and, from the corner of my vision, I noticed his face turn red from embarrassment at the idiocy of his statement.

He was quiet for about a mile or so and when I heard him take a breath to get ready for another "selling statement", I stopped him short with a speech I'd actually rehearsed. It was said in a confident voice, not snotty or arrogant - just factual. "Anything you say at this point will only kill this deal. I will be buying this car and I know what my offer will be. If you are unable to accept it, I know of two other dealerships who haven't made their numbers for the season and I'm sure they will happily take my money. Let's just enjoy this ride, alright?" And so we did, in silence.

We returned to the dealership, where he showed me the number he had prepared and I handed him my pre-written response card, with the number I'd prepared. Mine was only about $450 lower and I was proud that I'd done enough research - and was taken seriously enough - that the delta was that tight. A few "extras" were discussed ("I'm not paying $80 for floor mats when I can get them for $20 at the auto store near my house" was met with "Oh, we'll happily give you those - sorry, let me remove that") and we shook hands.

I glanced at the odometer when I got behind the wheel of the car I'd just signed for. The digital number showed the mileage as 23. (I would later pace out the route I'd taken as a test drive and it measured at a distance of 18 miles.) It had been over ten years since I saw that first advertisement. That first tease. Showing a beautiful coupe sitting in the summer sun while the country was in the midst of a rainy, cold Winter season. "Coming soon, to a driveway near you."

I turned the ... his ... wheel to the right and pulled into the driveway. "Here we are," I thought to myself. "Home at last."
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Jake will turn 10 years old tomorrow. Earlier this month, his odometer turned over to 47,000 miles. I don't know if the person who put those first 5 miles on him enjoyed the experience, but I sure have enjoyed the other 46,995.

And, like the other man in my life, he was more than worth the wait.