2001-12-01 - 03:59 p.m.

We spent the day shopping, which is about a twice a year endeavor for the boyfriend. And yes, we live in NYC, shopping metropolis, and instead spent the day in rural upstate NY, going to a bunch of chain stores, grouped into those weird outdoor mall things, really a giant parking lot with a bunch of stores strategically placed around the perimeter. Home Depot, Linens N Th1ngs (is this the DUMBEST name you have ever heard? What the hell were they thinking?) for a comforter cover and a coffeepot, and some other home store to buy rugs. Then I had a severe case of low blood sugar crabbiness, so we stopped at a diner for lunch before undertaking our real reason for the shopping trip: to look for a new car for the boyfriend. His lease is up, and he wanted to go out and look at/test drive a few trucks. This is very difficult to do in Manhattan - although it is possible, the boyfriend feels that he can't possibly run through his personal list of test-driving stunts on such crowded, one way streets. This in and of itself illustrates perfectly some of the differences in our personalities.

We go to the first dealer, and look at the cars, and make snide comments about the flag decal package they are so opportunistically offering. Then we take it for a test drive (alone, without the salesman, who tells us to "take our time." Hello??) We drive the car into traffic, we drive it on the highway, we screech into a parking lot, we slam on the breaks. We make turns, and go over bumps, and all the while the boyfriend is commenting on the space and the interior, the dashboard setup and the comfort of the seats. I am drinking coffee (yes, in the demo car. Bad girl) and looking at the houses. We go back, he discusses stereo upgrades, blah blah blah. Then we leave, and head for the next dealership.

And we do the same thing. Only this time the salesman came with us, and we at found out that he lived for 25 years on Avenue C, before it was trendy, and moved upstate when his sons started getting older, because he was afraid to have them grow up there. Then we returned to the lot, and we had to spend another week (ok, half an hour, but it felt like a week) comparing styles and models and whatever. My input? "I love that midnight blue color."

I admit it, although it's shameful. I am a stereotypical car shopping woman.

This is what I do when shopping for my own car: Decide beforehand what kind of car I want. Go to the dealer. Look around a little, pick one I like. Test drive it - for about five minutes, just to make sure I like the ride. (which I usually do, because I know nothing about this kind of shit, and care even less.) Return to lot, check pricing, buy car. End of story. Well, I usually do some online price comparing, too, I'm not a total moron.

I used to care more. I remember when I bought my first car, and the salesman tried to bait and switch me to a different color and year, and I dug in my heels and yelled and screamed and called the Better Business Bureau and GM and everyone else I could think of, until the sales manager was so anxious to shut me the hell up he just gave in and turned it over. Heh. I had more energy then.

One thing, though. I was looking at those silly little Jeep Liberties, and I got a little nostalgic looking at the shiny paint and the cupholders and seat-heaters and smelling the new car smell. I almost wanted one, not because I need or can afford one, but just because.

And then I thought about the whole car shopping thing, and I got over it.

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