I opened my account at U.S. Bank when I was 16 years old getting my first job as a “Courtesy Clerk” (bagger) at Smith’s. If I've ever been in the red, it was only once and we can chalk it up to a learning curve. Through the years, I’ve replaced and paid off expired cards, written and cashed checks and have been paid through wire transfer and direct deposit with ease. The savings and checking accounts have only ever been in my name. Damn, did independence feel good. I never asked anyone for anything, so when it came time to buy my first car, and it was my turn to ask, boy did I overestimate loyalty.
I drove the same 1995 Honda Civic Ex for 7 years. The car first began its trek from hero to zero when I was immediately pulled over one day outside of high school for having “too dark of tint.” Seriously, guys? Nothing better to do? Fully prepared with a tint-meter in one hand, a ticket booklet in the other and a smug-ass grin to top it off. Since then, I wrecked it, scratched it, sometimes changed the oil, and gave it new tires. Hell, one time I tore the rear-view mirror right off the windshield simply trying to change the view. I would've felt tough, if I didn't now have yet another problem with the car. The caboose in this train of terror came one night around 1am on a construction-heavy freeway. I was cut off and ended up side-swiping a traffic cone which decapitated my right side mirror. They are surprisingly sturdy. I got home to see it sitting nonchalantly on the passenger seat, as if back from the grave. The what-if scenarios creep me the hell out. If the window wasn't rolled down, would it have shattered? Luckily, I was alone. We ended up using gorilla glue to put it back on, which worked surprisingly well. But what a mess. It wasn't all bad. I took this puppy up and down Parley's Canyon to Kamas and back for a whole five-month relationship. This included the snowy times, so I give credit where it's due.
But it was time for something new. I started looking on KSL, Honda being the main search parameter, of course, being all I knew. Luckily, my parents had plenty of advice to give after probably having too many cars in their time. But that didn’t change the fact that banks wouldn’t look at me, even after finding a car I liked. U.S. Bank wanted to, “play it safe,” a lesson that I had learned after two hours of proposals, which included forty minutes on hold with an underwriter, with nothing better to do than to make friends with the teller. I didn't blame her for her shitty company's rules, and I appreciated her sympathy.
I later found myself sitting in a grocery store's America First branch with a seller right next to me. This teller was less friendly. She looked up after a lengthened phone call, sighed, and gave me a too-well rehearsed denial quote. It was as cliché as, “it’s not you, it’s me.” Income verification and a lack of credit history meant I was doomed. It didn't matter that I accepted the counter-offer loan of 10k, or that I had a credit score higher than 750. Not since before 2008 anyway, when that kind of score would have carried me off into the sunset. The night before, I had a test drive. I dragged my dad out of his home after a long day at work to go down to Orem. I felt guilty for wasting so many people’s time. But thank god. I hated the feel of the car. I was settling and I knew it. I figured that since it was the same model, just 17 years newer, it would have taken care of me. The manual transmission shifter was a third the size of what I was used to, and had to travel a third the distance to shift. I didn’t feel like I was behind the wheel of innovation. I felt cornered. I could hardly check the left blind spot. Shifting in the '95 felt accomplished, like Vin Diesel going a quarter mile in 10 seconds, except more like a minute in my case.
But then a new friend would soon unearth old memories of a job, where I researched Hyundai vehicles and had found a love for the Accent, despite it being their most base model. My realistic dream car. I was test driving a dealer-owned 2010 Civic, automatic, when my dad suggested going to their secondary lot. And that’s when I saw Caplan. I’ve never cared to name a car, but oh my fuck. This 2012 beautiful-red Hyundai Accent invoked feelings only comparable to the star struck boyish crush I have for the one and only Lizzy Caplan. We left for the dealership, hope rejuvenated, and immediately returned with the salesman so we could transfer cars, and my demeanor changed from grumpy to elated after a long, stressful day. I felt in tune, at home.
Apparently the finance director at Karl Malone Toyota, is a close family friend. He hooked me up as he has countless people in my family’s social ring. Oh my god, is this really happening? Great interest rate? Check. Some cash down? Check. I was locked in for 6 years, and my insurance only went up thirty bucks a month, and now with more than just liability coverage. I’m glad I suffered through the nail-biting, hair pulling bureaucracy of bank loans. I’m glad I test-drove cars I hated. I’m mostly glad I made a friend that gave insight into parts of my life I had buried long ago. I can’t help but smile when I see Caplan, but the trials I faced arriving to this point made it all worth the wait. So feel free to say what you've been wanting to about the '95. You don't have to hold your tongues anymore, you lovable bastards. You only slightly hesitated before you laughed and said. "It was a piece of shit."
Maybe, but it gave me a hell of a lot more than I gave it. RIP in peace.
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