It came down to Spicy or Violet.
Initially, Spicy had my heart, but Violet was easier on the wallet, plus she won the votes of virtually everyone in Barrhead.
There was one dissenter: a friend out of town who told me to steer clear of both. Never buy a new car, she cautioned. Once it leaves the forecourt it plunges in value by $10,000.
“You will never ever make any money,” she said.
This tale of romance started about a week ago when I entered Barrhead Ford, my head stuffed with clichéd images of car salesmen. I half expected to be greeted by a man chomping on a cigar, talking circles around me in a Cockney accent while flashing a gold-toothed alligator smile.
“No probs, guvna, I’ve got just the little jam jar for you …”
I asked myself a familiar question before entering: How long before they realize I’m clueless? That I don’t know a Ford Fiesta from a Focus?
I decided to play it cool. I was going to be guarded, serious and monosyllabic. When asked a question, I was going to grunt and nod.
So I pushed open the door … and the act fell apart.
I was greeted by two of the nicest people you could meet inside or outside a Ford showroom: Joe and Talena. Professional and friendly, they helped me every step of the way towards getting wheels, more than seven months after arriving in Barrhead.
No longer need I depend on free limo services provided by Brian, Herb and Derra, and Colleen and her husband.
At first it seemed a done deal: Spicy, a lime green, feisty 2011 Fiesta with a moon roof, was a perfect match. Nervous and excited, I had taken her for a test drive and everything felt just right. Mentally, I had already written the cheque.
“I think she really suits you,” said Talena, who seemed genuinely thrilled.
There was just one catch: a 5.49 per cent interest rate, something no reporter can afford to ignore.
Two days later, Spicy’s younger rival, made her appearance. Violet sat demurely in the parking lot, flaunting her big advantage: no interest rate.
Intense discussions took place at the Leader office. I consulted overseas friends. I threw my dilemma at everyone I knew, and a consensus emerged: Violet was the one for me.
“Besides, in a year or so lime green may look dorky,” someone said.
The advice left me a little deflated, yet it made kind of sense. And when I went to get my insurance, it made perfect sense. In fact, it became a no-brainer.
As I signed a plethora of forms in Joe’s office, I glanced out the window. Rejected, jilted and utterly betrayed, Spicy stared at me reproachfully.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Joe. “You can come by as often as you like and stare at her.”
Yet even as he spoke, I felt Violet pull at my heartstrings. People knowledgeable about love tell me that this often happens. What starts out as a practical, sensible arrangement, develops into something deeper and more meaningful.
Of one thing I am certain. Violet will never become dorky.
When I saw her outside my apartment the day after the purchase, she outshone every other vehicle in the block. To my prejudiced eyes she is now the best looking car in the world.
