STRANGER THAN FICTION: CAR BUYING DRIVES COUPLE OVER THE EDGE

You readers will be seeing a lot more of me these days. I'll be the shriveled, bitter person squatting on the corner of Broadway and Main selling pencils. Please buy one so I can make my car payment.

No, I'm not driving a new car; I'm still driving the tiny white sardine can with my knees on either side of the steering wheel. It doesn't have cruise control, power steering, electric locks or any other luxury item, but it does have four wheels, an engine and a monthly payment that renders the car beautiful to my eyes.

I'll never forget the day I walked into the local car dealership to buy it. With neither my parents nor any experienced male to help me, I was determined not to be used and abused by some shifty used-car salesman.

I met Rob, and we went for a test drive. He shot me a great price -- actually less than my budgeted figure. Still, I wasn't going down without a fight.

"All right, I'll take it, but only if you throw in the wheel covers and floor mats and hook up the back speakers," I said.

"It doesn't have back speakers," he said.

The shyster. I gave him my best who-do-you-think-you're-dealing-with? smirk.

"Well," I said. "Then what are THOSE two things in the back window?"

"Heating vents."

"Oh."

By the end of the paperwork, we were discussing talk shows, politics, post-secondary education -- the whole nine yards. He just sent me a Christmas card with a real, handwritten message pertaining to my life instead of the standard "Merry Christmas. Buy another car now."

What I'm getting at is that my experience with Rob was great, and I'd buy another car from him tomorrow if I could, but I probably couldn't buy him lunch tomorrow.

The reason is The Other Half, bless his soul. For two whole years, he looked at the same model of car at an out-of-state dealership. He took it for test drives, got the trade-in value computed for his truck and teased the salespeople only to drop them like hot potatoes when he got a quote on the insurance.

With marriage, 25 years of life and me on his side, the car was a little more obtainable, and his truck DID have 143,000 miles on it. A salesman shot us a price over the phone, we made the lengthy drive to the dealership and they reeled us in like a couple of trout.

Over THREE HOURS of credit checks, trade-in evaluations, and warranty packages, the car payments magically went up about $34 a month from what was quoted on the phone. The business manager was having us sign the paperwork when we got that revelation.

"Looks like your payments are going to be a little higher because of your credit," he said, pointing out the amount. It was more than I wanted, but still manageable. Then he started talking warranties.

My blood pressure rose. The Other Half had that look that said, "Oh my lord, she's about to speak." He was right. I felt compelled to fill my role as family scrooge.

"Where do we draw the line?" I said. "We started with a monthly payment that went up a few dollars here, a few dollars there -- at some point we have to stop the madness or not get the car."

Mr. Half's face fell. He wanted that car so bad, and now his insane, red-faced, stingy wife was about to blow the whole thing. He made the puppy-dog eyes.

We got the car, the warranty, the whole enchilada.

He looked so happy when he drove that car off the lot, just grinning from ear to ear. And who says power is the ultimate aphrodisiac (wink, wink)?

Maybe it's power steering.

P.S. A big thank you to all the people who saw me in the last three weeks and said my hair looked nice. I know you were lying like dogs, but thanks anyway.

And ESPECIALLY a big thank you to Kim and Danetta at Special Effects. They took pity on me and fixed my hair and makeup for the company Christmas party, which is, sad to say, my biggest social event of the year. You two are the greatest.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.