Well, my Saturn buying experience is complete, and I even managed to sneak out before they held their ceremonial encephalotomy they give to all new Saturn owners. Or at least I think I did.

Buying a Saturn is, as advertised, a different experience from buying other cars. Most people consider this to be a Real Good Thing, possibly because the people who think this don't normally manage to sneak out before the ceremonial encephalotomy. Not surprisingly, most Saturn owners do tend to think of themselves as different than the average car owner, and they have the scars to prove it. Likewise, Saturn dealers like to think of themselves as different from other car dealers, and while they are, I feel compelled to point out that you can create something that’s entirely different from doggie-poo, and still have something fairly objectionable.

My buying experience was a three day affair that was preceded by a few months of me worrying about whether my dusty old steed Jorj (or, Tree Catcher as he has become) would last me the next three or four years it's going to take me to finish graduate school.

It actually started shortly after the last time I rented a car (while Jorj was in for his bi-annual head gasket replacement). I got some nameless huge barge with a sofa where the front seat was supposed to go, big pillowy cushions with big pillowy buttons in the middle, a brake pedal the size of the USS Nimitz, and the special "Exxon Valdez Handling Package." What I found so distressing about this experience was how comfortable I found it to be.

Now, make no mistake -- Jorj is no slouch in the marshmallow-mobile department. It's just that I'm now seven years older than when I bought Jorj (who was purchased solely on the basis of its seats, but that's another story), and that seems to have had an effect on the nerve endings in my butt. For the first time in my life, I quit thinking about Porsches (which I'll never afford, anyway), and found myself in an Oldsmobile 98 frame of mind.

Not that I'd ever be able to afford one of those, either. I figure it'll be about five years, minimum, before I'll be able to afford something like that. In the meantime, the best I can do, if I can afford anything, is

SHUDDER

... an economy car.

Problem is that I really love Jorj, with its fancy seats, leather upholstery, CD player, head up display, trip computer, and its 500 mile range (from a single tank of gas). I just have no confidence that it'll be around for too much longer.

So, the serious car buying experience happened the other day when my credit union, DCU sent me a notice that I've been pre-approved for a $35,000 car loan. This got me thinking about how much I was going to be spending on Jorj's maintenance in the coming year (quite a bit, considering how badly I've let the preventive maintenance slip ever since I got to graduate school). I came to the conclusion that it was still going to be about $2000 cheaper this year to keep Jorj. Definitely cause for celebration.

Until the next morning when the "replace me" light on Jorj's dashboard lit up.

So later that day, I limped the dusty old steed over to Saturn of Hartford, and checked in at the front desk. I was greeted by someone who was doing a reasonably good imitation of "Talkie Toaster," except that she made Talkie look like a curmudgeon.

As she stuffed a piece of Saturn numb-away candy (with extra thorazine coating) into my mouth, she perked "Hi! Have you ever been to a Saturn dealer before?"

"What. Do I look like a Stepford Wife?"

"Oh, you’re such a cutie! Let me put your name down here, and why don’t you take a seat in our heavenly slumber lounge while you wait for the next available sales associate."

I wandered around the showroom, looking at the cars, and more importantly, watching the interchange between the salesdroids and the customers. I immediately noticed a pattern:

1) The droid sits the customers down with a marketing brochure and goes over the product line. This wouldn't take too long, since they only have three cars (and they only differ in the number of doors attached), if the droid didn't insist on reading the brochure aloud. I think they have an official Saturn employee directive that the brochure be read aloud in "upspeak," where every phrase is ended with a rising tone.

"Ok? So, now we have the Saturn car line? It’s a rahhly, rahhly nice car line?"

2) The droid shows them the magic "Visible Saturn," that has all its parts cut in half so all the wonderful parts are visible.

"So, this is what a Saturn looks like inside? It has dual airbags?

This is what the inside of the seat cushion looks like?"

3) Test drive

4) "What color would you like?" Followed by the dawning realization on the part of the customer that this time, it really was a question.

5) Closing the deal.

I didn't have time for this crap. I’d already figured out what car I wanted, what options I wanted, and how quickly I wanted to get out of there.

I waited around, and watched some more. After witnessing four or five re-enactments of "This is Buffy, and this is her first new Saturn!" I was greeted by my sales associate, Jen. She was a person who could (fortunately) make a declarative sentence sound like a declarative sentence, and who wasn't munching on that Saturn candy.

"Ok, let me go over our car line with you."

"I want an SW2 wagon with ABS and the option package."

"... uh, don’t you want to hear about the car line?"

"Not really."

"Do you know the difference between the SW1 and SW2?"

"Yeah. The SW2’s got the big engine."

"Why yes, it’s very peppy, and..."

"I don’t want ‘peppy.’ I hate ‘peppy.’ I want a big engine."

"Well, we only have ‘peppy.’ Do you know the other differences between the SW1 and SW2?"

"Yeah, the SW2’s got more stuff on it."

"... well, the SW2 has color keyed bumper trim and..."

"Oooh. Pinch me." I’m going to forgo recounting some of the other, more ornery things I followed this with, because they’d just make you hate me.

She could see it wasn't going according to script. She decided to move on. "Well, let me show you our cut-away Saturn to go over some of the features."

"Saw the other people do it."

"Uhhh.... test drive?"

"If you insist." I mean, c'mon, it’s just a lousy shitbox. I drove it anyway, just to make her happy. It felt like driving a shitbox compact car. The high point of the test drive was driving past that Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse billboard, and nearly talking Jen into taking a detour for dinner.

The other good part was stress testing the saleswoman. I tried a few things in the car, some of which involved all four wheels. When we got back, she invited me to go back inside and wait for her to extract her fingers from the dashboard and park the car.

I sauntered back inside, only to be re-greeted by Talkie. "Dawn! It’s so wonderful to see you again! How was the test drive?"

"Oh, it was ok, I guess. The paramedics are working on Jen now, and they say she'll be all right again after a couple of days." Unfortunately, Talkie didn't know I was kidding. Pretty soon, we really did have the paramedics working on her.

"That wasn't very funny, Dawn," she said as she shoved another dozen pieces of that Saturn candy into my mouth. And, you know, I was starting to feel warm all over, like it really wouldn't be so bad to join the Saturn family. Kind of like being adopted. Kind of like being adopted by a psychiatric ward.

I sat down and watched as a couple of smiling attendants dragged Jen back over to talk to me more.

I asked, "So, what next?"

"You can go home now?"

"I mean to buy the car."

Her disappointment was palpable. At least it was to the attendants who shoved her back into her seat. "{sigh.} What color?"

This is normally the part of the car buying experience that I like best. It’s the time when I get to delve deeply into the lineage of the salesdroid, and everyone else ever associated with the car. It’s when I get to estimate how closely everyone involved comes to being human, without quite making it. It's when I get to insult every single bolt in the car, and for that matter, every single bolt in the manager's neck. It’s when I generally get so nasty that they give me the car, just to get me out of the showroom.

Like I said, this is the fun part for me. I set about inflating the veins on my neck in preparation, but then she laid the bomb on me: something about Saturn’s non-negotiable prices.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???? NO DICKERING? IS THIS AMERICA??? YOU GUYS ARE JUST A BUNCH OF DAMN COMMIES!!!"

After another abortive escape attempt, she produced a purchase agreement, and we got down to brass tacks.

That was the first day (Thursday) of the transaction. The second day (the following Saturday) had me show up to get my old car appraised. They basically told me that it was very nice, except for having had multiple tree dents on top of it, and that things would go a lot better if I didn't ask them to take it.

This time, I had my friend Robin along with me, and we did quite an effective job of double teaming Jen. So much so that she fobbed us off onto the guy in charge of appraising cars.

"I’m so glad you chose Saturn? We think we have a really nice car line? Did you see our cut-away Saturn? That started out as a real working Saturn? and our body department cut it up like that? so you can see what Saturns look like inside?"

When we got back from the appraisal, I asked Jen show me the car that I was actually buying. Robin and I bounced around inside it, complained about everything, tried to break all the knobs and buttons off, then complained loudly that it was missing a bunch of knobs and buttons.

To think that some people actually don’t like buying a car. It’s all in the attitude you bring with you.

At this point, I was really pulling all the stops out (of my badgering the Saturn staff; Robin and I had already pulled all the stops out of the car). I was trying to come up with anything I could think of, just to see what it would do to Jen's blood pressure. This, unfortunately, backfired when I made what I thought was one of my more innocuous comments (actually, I think all my comments are innocuous, but that's probably why no one understands me). The result was Robin horking an entire bottle of Coca Cola (not just the coke, but the bottle as well) all over the showroom window.

This actually had nothing to do with buying the car, but it was quite entertaining for both me as well as Jen (who was quite relieved to see me picking on someone else for a change).

After the appraisal guy, knob breaking and cola horking, we went to work on the finance guy, presumably for a round of knee breaking. The only question was whose knees were to be broken. It wasn't clear, but we weren't going to make it very easy for them.

Robin, who prefers her cars to be retired cop-cars, felt that this was her last chance to get me into something that she considered to be more reasonable in size. Like a Ford Crown Vic. So, she’d keep interjecting little comments like "Hey, Dawn, let me take you over to the Ford dealer, where they got real cars!"

The final stage of buying the car was Tuesday night. I showed up an hour early for my appointment, with $18,000 in hand, and all my insurance documentation ready. I brought my friend Guy along to drive Jorj home for me afterward.

As I walked in, I could have sworn I saw Jen sprinting towards the back of the showroom.

Talkie greeted me: "Dawn! It’s so wonderful to see you!" (I couldn't answer, because Guy and I had mysteriously obtained mouthfuls of that Saturn Candy again.) "Jen will be right with you. She just has a couple of things to take care of first. Guy! Have you ever been to a Saturn dealer before?"

I watched as Guy backed to the door with a frightened Bambi look on his face. Outside, I saw a car speeding away, only to be hooked in mid-flight by a Saturn tow-truck, and dragged, wheels screeching, back to the dealership.

A few moments later, Jen joined us, and escorted us to the showroom area that Talkie had unfortunately referred to as "The Delivery Module."

I signed a bunch of papers. I took their damned pictures, and while they were all crowding around with their Polaroids and chanting "This is Dawn’s first new Saturn," I dove into the car, crashed through the double doors, and drove home to safety. Guy managed to sneak out, too, although he’s been looking a little glazed over ever since.

Well, anyway, it’s a car. And it seems to run. I just kind of miss that Thorazine candy of theirs.

A postscript:

A reader recently sent me the comment (and I quote):

"I read through 'Hank Buys A Car,' and could not find anything to prove that Hank was responsible."

He then continues on about how he didn't succumb to the Saturn candy, and how his life is forever better for it.

But, to address his original point, I realize that this minor detail might indeed be confusing to some people, although I find it surprising coming from him, given that he is a cat owner. I guess he just doesn't realize the effects that cats have on people.

Yes, I did go through the actual motions to buy the car, but the fact is that Hank made me do it. It was only through Hank's subtle influence that I came to buy this car. I know this because I never even started thinking of getting a new car until the first time I took Hank to the vet in Jorj. Basically, Hank hates that old car, and wanted me to get a new one. He hates it for several reasons:

1. It's too old and ratty to be seen in
2. Sitting inside of anything that trees fall on makes him nervous
3. It has the very faint smell of dying cat in it
4. All the animal skins on the seats make him worry where the next upholstery is going to come from (note that for some reason, this is my first new car purchase in decades that didn't include the animal-skin upholstery. QED)

Hank is quite happy with his new Saturn (as pictured above), and is offended at any suggestion that it wasn't his idea. After all, ideas are things that Hank doesn't come up with too often, so let's give credit on the rare occasions where credit is due.