13 February 2007
Never mock a Hyundai
Forbes has another one of its goofy lists, this time What Your Car Says About You provided, of course, that your car is the sort of pricey conveyance that is most easily affordable to, well, readers of Forbes. Since they didn't venture far enough down the automotive food chain to get to what I drive, I'm filling the gap here with what my car says about me, which is simply this: at a point where I was in bad need of new wheels, I chose to buy a six-year-old luxoboat for 40 percent of its original sticker price, with the hope of getting eight to ten more years out of it.
Not everyone reacts as blandly as this. My children asked if I were suddenly acquiring a veneer of snootiness (I almost typed "snottiness," which fits equally well); a couple of people asked if this climb up a rung or two of the perceived automotive hierarchy constituted some form of therapy (perhaps it did, in some way); one reader of this site accused me of being some sort of "grown-up," perhaps the scariest prospect of all. (The American male is not unique in his desire to perpetuate adolescence, but he goes to the most trouble to see it done.) But ultimately I can no more explain my choice of vehicle to others than I could my choice of girlfriend, had I a girlfriend, which of course I don't, and this model has no particular reputation as a crumpet-collector anyway.
If I've learned anything from the experience, it's that a lot more things are negotiable than I had imagined. I am not overly fond of leather, and I absolutely despise fake wood; Gwendolyn is outfitted rather generously with both, and I shrug when people point this out.