I think it was about a year ago--when Derek had a job and Riley was getting his Learner's Permit--that I first broached the subject of acquiring another vehicle for Team WestEnders. Thanks to the older son, this quickly earned the moniker Operation TFC (Third Family Car...catchy, right?). However, Husband was vehemently opposed at the time, insisting it was unnecessary, we could manage without, blah blah blah. Regardless of the dissension in the ranks, if you will, I went ahead and searched for one anyway, but I wasn't able to locate anything that met some pretty strict criteria (more on that later), so eventually I gave up in defeat...at least temporarily.
Fast forward to the myriad logistical difficulties the college kid is currently experiencing: living off-campus in a complex with an inconveniently limited, unreliable shuttle...situated in an area lacking retail options, and not served by city buses...and too far away to walk to school. Suddenly, when faced with the possibility of disasters such as, I don't know, "failing Organic Chemistry" (if unable to join extra study sessions on weekends) or "starving" (if prevented from obtaining supplemental food to get through non-dining-hall hours) Husband took a running leap right the heck on over to the TFC Club.
Alrighty, then, let’s get to it, shall we? Now, some of the preferred parameters for this automobile remained the same from my first go-around. For example, we agreed that we were seeking a 4-door, medium-sized, sedan-type non-gas-guzzler. And we weren’t particularly picky about the model year, as long as it came with as low mileage as possible.
Ironically, the one thing Husband and I had to haggle about was how much moolah we were willing--and seemed reasonable--to spend. Because the previous Mr. “why pay for something we don’t need” flipped his tune and became all “let’s get one that’ll last through the rest of Derek’s undergraduate career…and then Riley’s as well!” Meanwhile, as the Household Financial Manager I had to talk him down off the…Precipice of Extravagance…and rein his ambitions back into the more boring….yet comfortable…Realm of Affordability.
Anyway, once we settled on a hard budget cap, we started hitting up good old Carmax to see what was available. And the disappointing answer was…not a whole lot, at our price point. So I decided to explore other avenues, such as AAA; I knew they offered a car buying service, but I had no idea what it entailed. Well, apparently you call them, have a one-on-one conversation with a representative about what you’re in the market for...and they try to find it for you.
From what I gathered in talking with my new friend Larry, they check their existing inventory, which is comprised of trade-ins from AAA members. One obvious advantage of using an organization like this is that they’re staking their reputation on providing valuable benefits to their paying constituency. Also, they’ve obviously built their entire business empire around motorized transportation, so presumably they’re going to employ folks with lots of expertise in that area. All of this inspires confidence--as did my interaction with Larry, who was a wealth of information gained over 20-some years of automotive industry experience.
Whew! Then we just crossed our fingers and waited for Big L to contact us with some good news…which he did, several days later. He sent me links to 4 contenders…3 of which we dismissed immediately (2 small SUVs and a V6 Lexus…uh, no thanks!). But the fourth…was a Honda Civic…which is kind of what we were hoping for anyway, to be honest. It ticked all the important boxes, so once Larry gave it his personal thumbs-up…we just had to put down a deposit over the phone, and it would be ours!
Seriously--as long as you’re okay with trusting AAA, and purchasing a car without personally driving it yourself, it cannot be easier to do it this way. They serviced, washed, and filled it up with gas…and drove it to our house (from the central office…in Charlotte!). They even file all the paperwork for you, so (GET THIS, y’all) I don’t even have to Set. Foot. In the DMV, since everything will come to us in the mail. That itself might be worth the price of admission, as they say…whoo hoo!
So there we were after the delivery dude left…proud new owners of the shiny 2010 Civic in our driveway. (Incidentally, I immediately dubbed it Marshmallow, because…well, just look at it, guys. How could you NOT? Derek naturally disagreed…adamantly. But in my head? Marshmallow from now on…you can’t stop me…don’t even try….) Larry had told me it was a proverbial “little old lady” car, and after inspecting it myself, I totally believe him. This thing is in pristine condition, and you’d never guess it was 9 years old (except maybe for the fact that it has a CD player…LOL!).
After we informed Derek--who was over the moon with happiness and relief and gratitude when he heard--the next task was clearly to get the 4-wheeled white wonder down to Columbia. (Ooh…Wonder Bread! Another solid potential nickname!) I’ll spare you the absolutely dizzying array of methods we considered and just give you the winner: I would convey…Caspar the Civic (Yeah! I’m en fuego, amigos…) to South Carolina, spend a few hours with my child (feeding him, of course), and then catch a bus back north. This leg of the journey would end in Raleigh, where Husband would pick me up and whisk me the rest of the way back to Chapel Hill. The only speed bump in this agenda? The fastest carrier had only one route a day leaving from anywhere near UofSC…at 8 p.m. It therefore would roll into the Triangle around midnight, with another 40 minutes required to finish the trek home. Um…yaaaay for…adventure? Suuuure, we’ll go with that…
I passed a mostly pleasant and uneventful 4 hours on the road to the Other Carolina, after which I enjoyed an enthusiastic reunion with Derek. We had several hours at our disposal to catch up, address To Do items (mainly procuring parking passes for the apartment and university lots), take advantage of the uncharacteristically temperate weather to meander the Riverwalk near his complex, and grab dinner and a post-meal stroll in town, before heading to the bus rendezvous point.
You see, this was not a “Greyhound station” kind of deal. The cut-rate company that I bravely signed up for had us convening in a parking lot…near a somewhat shady looking establishment called…Flaming Grill Supreme Buffet. (I swear, I couldn’t make this up if I tried, people…) The operator had a piece of paper with what appeared to be hastily scribbled confirmation numbers that he checked off when you showed him your ticket. Also, he didn’t seem to speak much English. But when I hesitantly inquired as to whether there was a bathroom on the bus, he was able to tell me I could use the one in the restaurant (which turned out to be--not surprisingly--fairly nasty).
Folks, I’m not gonna lie…while part of me was giggling internally at the somewhat preposterous state of affairs I’d voluntarily gotten myself into…another, more rational portion was recoiling in horror and wondering whether I’d actually survive this odyssey. Derek and I shared a brief chuckle about how--whatever the corporation is actually called--if they had any interest in being transparent with their clients, it should be known as… Sketchy Bus. Then he sobered up enough to make me promise to text him when I arrived. (Proving the adage that there’s a first time for everything…also an amusing turnabout of the parent/child relationship…if not for the palpable sense of impending doom…or what have you…)
So I entered the Coach of No Return (literally, since I was going one-way--thank heavens!), picked a seat, and settled down for the duration. The interior was…threadbare….maybe clean? Hard to tell, honestly…and smelled ever-so-faintly of cigarettes and pee (which at least for the smoke odor could have been attributed to some of the other riders, since they darted outside to get their nicotine fix every time we stopped. I have no comment about the other…aroma…). The website boldly promised Wi-Fi, but the signal was never good enough for me to watch videos on my phone, so that was a bust. (I know, I know: my expectations should reeeaaallly have been MUCH lower by now…)
Although we pulled into gas stations approximately every hour to take on more passengers, I suppose the one thing I was thankful for was the fact that I never had to give up the empty seat next to me, where I’d placed my backpack for easy access. Otherwise, it was…an interesting expedition…which I plan to NEVER repeat. Obviously I accomplished my mission, and triumphantly disembarked at yet another fill-up-joint in Raleigh--which was lit up like a carnival, with pop tunes blasting from the outside speakers…at 12:10 a.m. It just put the cap on a whole night of surreal, I’m tellin’ ya…
But my Uber--I mean Husband--was there to rescue me from the weird, listen to me rant about all the nonsense I’d encountered, and most critically, ferry me to my cozy bed after a hella long day of travel. It was a mighty quest, to bring Sir Sophomore his snowy steed. (Snowball! Jeez, there’s another one! Someone turn off my brain now…) But now, we A-L-L get to reap the rewards of an independently mobile student: not only can he attend to his personal and academic needs in and around his neighborhood, but he can chauffeur himself back and forth from breaks, without a parental unit having to commit 8 hours for the round-trip. In short, everyone WINS! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some sleep to catch up on…please cross your fingers with me, in hopes that I’m not plagued by nightmares of creepy death buses…thankyouverymuch!
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