Defeat

You must think I'm talking about the Eagles last night, but I'm not - I gave up on them weeks ago.

I'm speaking of that magical, sickening feeling you get when you're driving away from the car dealership $16,000 poorer, with nothing to show for it except a car. You know, a lot like the car you drove to the dealership in. Except it's shinier. And it doesn't have Mountain Dew soaked into the carpet (yet) and ice cream sprinkles crushed into the crevices of the seats (yet). Wooo.

Oh, and the new car doesn't have my garage door opener in it, because I was too stupid to take it out of the old car before I traded it in. Weeee!

In 30 years, at 8% interest, that $16k would have been worth approximately $128k (of course, if I'd been doing the investment, it might be more like $14k.) That $128k would be worth significantly less than it is today because of inflation (too lazy to do the math), but it still would be enough for a couple years' membership at a country club. Instead, I have nothing more than a basic entry pass into American society.

I know, that's a lot of whining for someone who's lucky enough to be living here instead of Iraq or Nigeria or some other gods-forsaken place where the unfortunate populace can only dream of having "problems" like mine. But oh well, they're my problems, and you're reading my blog, so get over it.

As a responsible blogger, I should probably post a picture of my new car, but it's nothing to look at. It's a silver Honda fucking Accord, which is about as ubiquitous as expanding waistlines, e-mail viruses, and "My Kid Is An Honor Student" bumper stickers. Just look out your window, or turn on your tv, or use your imagination. It's a car, and it's silver. Yipee.

I remember growing up, when some adult in my family would buy a new car, they would be excited. There would be some minimal amount of pride, contentment, and maybe even a level of celebration. But I don't feel like that at all. I feel like I just blew a guy for money, but instead of paying me when he was done, he kicked me in the stomach and took my wallet. (Editor's note: The author has no firsthand experience in blowing guys for money, he's drawing a hypothetcial comparison.)

At least I don't have to do this again for another ten years.