Good Carma

Sunday “morning” I dragged my tired but out of bed and into a beautiful Sunday on the Bay. I met Barney at the Embarcadero in time for the noon ferry to Sausalito. It was sunny wand warm in the City, icy and foggy on the Bay, and sunny and warm in Sausalito. The Golden Gate was entirely invisible.

Deb met us at the dock, feeling very much like the new mother waiting for Daddy at the pier with little Roman zonked out in the stroller. We strolled along the waterfront and stopped in the park long enough for me to change from jeans to shorts. Living in SF I am not shy about dropping trou in public. I am hoping the locals didn’t mind. I didn’t care about the tourists. I consider them interlopers. I am local color.

Deb and I had planned this day as an opportunity to spend a beautiful day together, and for me to buy her car.

A couple of weeks ago, Deb finally accepted that she would have to get a mommy mobile. Roman and Zola (enormous black lab) could not easily share the back seat of the Beemer. Deb sent out an e-mail asking if her friends knew anyone who might be interested in buying it. The Beemer was way out of my desired price range, but I knew the car well, knew Deb had taken anal-retentive good care of it, and knew it was a good deal. But more than that, I thought I should by it because it just made cosmic sense. One of my best friends needs to sell her car at the same time I need to buy one. Take the sign. Don’t question it. Be appreciative. And just ride the gift horse.

I told her I was interested. I really wanted a convertible though. I shopped around online for a long time, visited a couple of dealers, and conferred with friends. I am not a “car guy.” I hate dealers. I shiver just typing about it. I don’t like car research and I don’t get into it like my brother Mac or my friend David Britt. I just want a reliable car at a reasonable price. The opportunity with Deb just seemed so right. And a gift from Heaven. No muss, no fuss, no stress, no strain.

The exclamation point to the “this is a sign dumbass—just buy Deb’s car!” feeling was made by the Ford dealers at Dolores and Market. Major with the creepy! And AGGRESSIVE. And so stereotypical annoying and pushy and sleezy that I almost laughed at them. Things like shaking my hand but then not letting go. Pushing me aggressively towards something I have adamantly declared I didn’t want. I almost asked “Does this actually work on other people?” But then they started tag-teaming me with cheesy lines and high-pressure sales tactics and I realized that many people must get caught like deer in the headlights and just capitulate to get them to back off. It got to the point that I actually wanted to shout “Stop it!” Except they outnumbered me and I really didn’t even feel safe in there any more. They were like hyenas circling their prey.

But I digress. I went to Sausalito to spend the day with Deb and buy her car. Once she knew I was interested, she asked if I was flexible with the timing as she had not decided on a mommy mobile just yet. She bought a Honda SUV last week, so this was a good time to pick up her old car.

We had a lovely day in Sausalito. We took lunch at a nice café on the water, enjoyed the sunshine and the random Sting/Russian cover song from the Albanian guitar player working the patio. (He was hunky, pretty, and pretty cheesy. Which we found quite entertaining.)

It occurred to me that it must seem strange to other people that I came to Sausalito to buy a car I have never even driven. So I drove it. Loved it. Heck, I have been driven in it enough. In fact I was the first passenger the day that Deb bought it.

It’s a 2001 BMW 325i, fully loaded, leather, silver exterior, well-maintained, and just passed 60k miles. As a bestest-buddy Deb gave me a great deal (but fair to her too). It needs its 60k “Inspection II” service, a new windshield wiper fluid pump, and a dent pulled from between the grills, that will run almost $1,000 so she knocked that off the price. She had meant to have it detailed before I claimed it, but there wasn’t time. She did however clean it to almost immaculate perfection.

And she hid $5 in the glove box for the bridge toll back as a ‘welcome to the car’ gift.

I’m going to take it back to her official BMW guy in Sausalito for the service, as he only charges $400, instead of $750 charged by the two pretentious BMW places in the City. I would like to use Cole Garage as it is just around the corner, but they won’t even give me an estimate. So one day next week I will drive up to Sausalito and work out of Deb’s home office. The body work I can get done across the street from my apartment—if I choose to do so at all. The dent is so minor I couldn’t see it even though she told me it was there. She had to point it out for me to notice. Once I have the maintenance done, I’ll have it detailed and the inside shampooed/steam cleaned for that new car feeling.

While I did get a great deal, I have been cringing at the added expense of registration, change in title, required smog check, and oh dear God the sales tax. I paid a third down and need to come up with the rest. Now that I have the title in my name, I'll get a car loan, or probably a line of credit at a lower rate. Or just pay her a montly amount for a year as she's cool with that.

Next: new insurance.

One down, two to go.

I love the car. And I’m thinking of naming it Linda. After Debbie Sue Linda, one of my pet names for Deborah (originally from a MadTV sketch).

And yes, I am well aware that driving a BMW now makes me yuppie scum. I believe I have sufficiently mitigated that by my nights at the Powerhouse, Trannsyshack, and Midnight Mass.