the Regal Beagle
Tuesday, October 23, 2001
So much of one's personality can be gleaned from the automobile they drive. I mean, honestly, tell me that the mere mention of a minivan does not bring visions of Soccer Moms to your head.
Or perhaps the musclehead drivers that go hand in hand with their Corvette and/or Mustang.
Or, and you can't forget, the yuppie VW-driving twenty/thirty-something connection.
Which ultimately brings you to the old-timer Buick drivers who find it sacrilege to go over the posted speed limit while cruising down the freeway. Sometimes they're so polite, they'll even slow down. I mean, who needs to go the speed limit anyway?
Well, kids. If you thought I was old in car-years with the Bonneville, I have some news to break. I'm now one of those latter-mentioned Buick-driving old fogies. I may be 29 (close to thirty) in people years, but in car-years, I'm all blue-hair. And I haven't even been to the salon.
Ummm. Hi.
I bought a car. Let the stereotypes begin.
Last night, we signed the deal and I walked off, or more accurately, DROVE off the lot with a 1999 Buick Regal GS. It's actually a really nice car (isn't that what they all say?). No, really. It is. It's loaded to the max with a supercharged V6 engine, heated leather seats, CD player (no, I hadn't made that jump into that future yet), sunroof, dual-climate control. There are even those groovy volume and radio controls on my (love it!) leather steering wheel.
It *is* a nice car.
It's also a Buick.
Actually, here it is. Look for yourself:
Pretty, no? Sporty, no?
I know. I know. It *is* a Buick. What more do you want from me?
So, maybe I am having a little identity crisis with the car. But it was honestly my best, most fitting choice.
If I would have had to buy a new car three years ago, I would have been all about the VWs. I loved them. I still love them. Heck, James drives one of them. And that was my plan. When I finally decided that I'd outgrown my compact, super-cheap Isuzu Stylus (don't worry, no one else has heard of those cars either), a VW was my definite car-to-be. I was actually eyeing the bugs. But they'd just come out and were hard to get your hands on. They were actually a little higher priced, too, than the Golf I really wanted. And I was going to get a Golf. One in that "pumpkin-spice" kind of color that reminds everyone of fall. That was going to be my car. Heather's car. Heather yuppie-hip-groovin-moBeele.
Then something funny happened. My mother made me a proposition. She offered the Bonnie up and I actually considered it. A few times prior, when my Stylus was acting up, I bummed the use of my mother's car. It's was a honkin' big Pontiac Bonneville. But it was nice: leather, comfortable ride, nice engine. And once I got used to parking the boat, I actually started to like it.
So, when my mother offered up the used Bonnie at a stellar $10k, I couldn't resist. Sure I wanted the Golf. Sure I pictured myself on one of the "Drivers Wanted" ads -- but I was economically reasonable even then. I just couldn't see the point in spending way more for a car that had (a) less of an engine and (b) less amenities than the Bonnie sitting right in the drive. So I took her up on the offer. At the least, I figured I could be reasonable, drive the Bonnie for a few years and *then* purchase the car of my dreams that could more accurately portray my hipness.
Of course, what happened after that surprised even me. Because after a year of driving the big, white party-car, the need to portray my hipness started to subside. There were other benefits that were more important. Much more important.
Like, say, PROTECTION.
Yes. Not three months after taking ownership of the Bonnie, I jumped a deer in a horrific 5:30 am incident. And I say horrific because the state of that deer after I jumped it was, in fact, quite horrific. But because of the size of my vehicle, little damage was done to my vehicle and none was done to me. The mechanic who worked on my car said I was lucky. With a buck that size, a smaller car would have toppled. But not in the Mighty Pontiac.
So, the love affair progressed. I'd joke about my car. Make snide comments about it's size. But I loved it nonetheless. And then when I got rear-ended last December, I loved it even more. Once again, the damage to my person was nonexistent even though I was rammed into by a handicap transport van! That thing was big and it hit me hard. But all I had to whine about was the fact that my car was in the shop for three months. Although, I did miss it greatly while driving around the tin-ny Malibu rental in its place.
Then, last week, the Bonnie threw it's life on the line for me once again. Only this time, she didn't come out of it alive and it makes me sad. Kerry and I were stopped in traffic, minding our own business and then, WHAM! We were hit. Hard.
Looking back on the accident, we were really lucky. We weren't hurt and I was able to drive the car back to Wisconsin. If I'd been driving a smaller car, I can't be certain things would have ended the same. I can only imagine how horrible it would have been to be stranded in Chicago not knowing where to go. I can only imagine how horrible it would have been to have been injured and wheeled off the hospital. And thanks to the Bonnie, I don't have to imagine "what if." I really don't.
Of course, when my insurance told me they were totaling out my car, my first instinct was to replace Bonnie with a newer, just-as-protective version of her. Unfortunately, we soon learned that our budget really didn't allow for that. While we were close to paying Bonnie off, the prospect of a five-year-loan on a new one wasn't a good one. Especially with James out of a job. And there were Bonnevilles out there that were in our price range, but they were either older, or didn't have leather seats (I'm a freak -- I NEED my leather) or they were dirty and stinky and had a lot of miles. Shit, 75% of them have bench seats. I didn't know cars even had those anymore!
So, while looking, we started considering other makes and models. I was really impressed the Olds Aurora, but that too was out of our budget. We looked for an Olds Intrigue, but no used ones were to be found. And the Olds Alero just seemed too small. I felt very vulnerable in that car which is why I wasn't considering cars like the Civic or Jetta or Integra.
Then I found the Regal.
I swear, the Regal is the only Buick that doesn't look like a stereotypical Buick. It's not like the Century or LeSabre. And while the LeSabre has basically the same "stuff" as the Bonneville, they're not as sporty and just a little stale.
But the Regal is different. It drives nice and comfortable. But it is also a little sporty and fun. It is loaded with amenities (have I mentioned my leather seats?) and, most importantly, it makes me feel safe.
Feeling safe.
That's what important to me. And when it boils right down to it, that's what I need out of a car. I've been rear-ended twice in less than a year. I've had four total accidents if you included my run-ins with deer. And NONE of those accidents have been my fault. Not one. Which just goes to prove that you don't always have control of your fate. So, the hell if I'm going to drive around in something that can get me more hurt than is necessary. It's bad enough that I risk my life everyday on the road. Almost all of us do. I just want to feel like I have a little bit of a better chance while I'm out there.
And that is why I picked the car I did.
Laugh if you will. Believe me, I did. All Sunday night I kept looking at James saying, "Buick?" with a mixture of horror, amazement and confusion on my face.
But a Buick it is. And it's mine.
And it makes me happy. Because even though it's safe, it's kind of fun too. What other car out there is named after the bar that Chrissie, Janet and Jack visited weekly on Three's Company?
Hee. Hee. I got me a Regal Beagle.
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