FriendBurst Blog

It was a daring original in its time.

The Pontiac TransPort was probably the first of the “crossover” category.  Yes, it’s a mini-van, but I can see over the top of it at my 6 feet tall.  It was the first crossover. It had weird taillights way up high on the vehicle.  Unique.  Weird.  Totally me.

It was also the cheapest one on my list.  One I could pay cash for from one paycheck.

Still, I had that tremendous feeling of forboding deep in my gut, a nervousness of doing something tremendous as I boarded the 358 bus, scared out of my wits.  I’m just buying a car.  What’s the big deal?

See, for me, the way I ended my driving history 19 months ago was so traumatic, so life changing, that this wasn’t just buying a car, this was becoming a new type of person: one who could be trusted behind the wheel of a 2000 pound piece of steel, rubber and glass. This was in some ways, a culmination of my new found sobriety and recovery.

Still, I knew I had to pull myself together, gird my loins, and at least be a little sophisticated and standoffish.  These used car salesmen would charm you and then steal your last penny, right?

Why is it that “loins” are the only thing one “girds”?  Why can’t we “gird” anything else?

I went into Chuck Olson’s Chevy/Kia with only one real question in mind.  I had seen their listing for the ‘94 Pontiac TransPort at $999 10 times in the week or so I had been surfing used car listings. Something seemed too good to be true.  Like the early 20’s cheerleader posting on AdultFriendFinder, looking for an “older man”.  Does she have the clap?  Is she going to charge $200?  Does she have a penis?  See, this vehicle was $1600 below Kelley Bluebook and 500 to 600 less than comparable vehicles being sold elsewhere.  Something had to be up.

“So what’s wrong with it?”  

This was my first question to my salesman as I stuck my head inside the TranSport and took in that used car smell.

“Well, it’s got 200,000 miles on it.  This is normally a vehicle we’d auction off to a smaller lot, but with the economy the way it is, we just gotta do and sell whatever we can.”

Brilliant salesman response.  Make your business the victim of the current economy.  Make it seem like they would normally even be above dealing in such piddly three-figure vehicles.  I’m getting such a deal because times are tough, not that there is anything wrong.

Now, as a salesman, I could admire such a response, but ultimately, this man and I were adversaries when it comes to the negotiation of the price of this vehicle.

We drove off for a test drive.  The engine sounded okay.  Everything worked. The car was a bit sluggish, not what one thinks of when one thinks “Pontiac”, but what one would expect for an older car.  In any case, a sluggish car is probably a good idea for me.  I can’t speak to what happened that fateful night 19 months ago, suffice to say that “MY CAR IS FAST!” might have crossed my mind.

See, my negotiation with the dealership was not about the price but about the “document fee”, a rather official sounding thing they’re allowed by the state to charge for the processing of the title transfer and tabs, beyond what the state charges already.  It’s entirely negotiable, and girded by what I read on the internet (I guess one CAN use girded in other contexts), I was NOT going to pay a document fee.

After 6 or 10 blocks of driving this beast, I was satisfied with its performance and turned around back towards the dealership.  While waiting at a light on the busiest city street in the North Seattle (Aurora), the TranSport died.

We’d run out of gas.

The fuel light was on when we left for our test drive.

“There’s enough gas for a test drive!” the salesman assured me.

No, there wasn’t.

So part of my first experience with my new van was pushing it uphill into the gas station.  I am also impressed with the spirit of my fellow Americans who are always willing to drop what they’re doing and help push the out of gas vehicle into a gas station.  I’ve done it on a couple occasions myself, and two complete strangers appeared out of nowhere to help push this heavy truck into the gas station.

“Damn..” my salesman reported, “I left my wallet back at the dealership.”

What?  I’d have to pay for the gas to get this thing back to Chuck Olson?

My salesman found fifty cents in a pocket somewhere, and those four bits were enough to get the Pontiac started again and back to the dealership.

“In ten years of selling cars,” Scott the salesman told me, “I’ve never had a car run out of gas on a test drive.”  I believed him.

Then I broke the topic of the document fee.  See, I thought $999 was a fair price for this beast, but as I’d learned on the Internet, I just had to stand firm on the point that I was NOT going to pay ANY document fee.  Period.  Otherwise, I walk.

I learned this tactic after reading a recent article where the State of Washington has recently approved increasing this added fee, none of which, despite the governmental sound, actually goes to the state,  It all goes to the dealership.  $150 is now the MAXIMUM dealerships are allowed to charge for this fee, something private sellers can’t do.

Scott explained, “well, some dealerships charge $200 or $250 for document fees, whereas we’re okay at $150.  I’ll talk to my sales manager  and see what we can do.”

Oh, Scott, you just lost my respect there.  Telling me a boldface lie, one that is so easily disproven with a simple internet search, right when I told you I wanted to buy the car.. Ooooh..  Bad idea.  They say used car salesmen lie.  As an appliance salesman, one who sold a wall oven for more than three times the cost of the car I’m buying from you, I speak to you as a brother: don’t lie.   I’m e-mailing the link to this blog to my salesman in a couple days…

In the end, the reduced the price of the vehicle by $100 and charged me a $100 document fee.  Whatever.  I still got it for less than a grand retail.  I’m happy with that.

The other places I went, well, they had much nicer cars that I could afford if they’d allowed me to make a couple or three payments, but no one finances anyone without a valid drivers’ license, and I’m a month away from that reality.

This fact, more than anything , explains why I bought my TranSport.   It was a one-paycheck-vehicle. There were other factors though.
I explained recently in a previous blog a trans-consciousness experience I had with Native American culture.  There was a sticker on the front windshield of the car when I drove it that said: “MEMBER: CHOCTAW NATION”.  I went back to the dealership later that afternoon and asked them to pull the Carfax for me.  It turns out this Pontiac (itself and Indian name) started it’s life in the town of Tecumseh, Michigan.

I’ve never heard of Tecumseh, Michigan, but I’d certainly heard of Tecumseh.  He was probably the greatest leader of the Native American people at a time when the fate of this continent was in flux.  He lead the Native Americans in their fight against the American colonists in the War of 1812. In spite of his indisputable courage, leadership skills and tenacity, he was abandoned by his British allies, and with him died any possible united Indian resistance to White American expansion and domination.

This car was previously owned by a Choctaw.  It cruised the streets of Tecumseh, Michigan.  I’ve been reading a lot of Kathleen and Michael Gear lately.  I have no Native American blood in my ancestory,  but I have been greatly, profoundly, spiritually influenced by their culture lately.  This NDN connection to this Pontiac vehicle seemed like too many Godshots not to buy it. At the end of this video, where I say “Oh, they removed it”, I am refering to the Choctaw Nation sticker that was in front windshield.

I am not Choctaw, so I don’t suppose it’s okay for my car to say I am, but I am grateful to the Choctaw for giving me this vehicle.

So I have a car, but I can’t drive it.  Not for another month.   That’s when I get my license back.