Statesman > XL Blogs > Archives > 2004 > December > 08 > Entry
Car Wars Episode II: Attack of the Hybrid
When last we talked (I talked. You read, I hope.), I was beset on all sides by the tyranny of weirdo car dealers and a repair bill making it daunting to keep around my beloved 2000 Hyundai Elantra, a car that was essentially a $5 piece of plastic and metal with a spoiler and sunroof. Yes, I buy into the principle that if you put enough stickers on your crappy skateboard, it will eventually become a cool skateboard.
I started hunting for a car, something nicer than what I’d been driving for the last five years, but not so nice that it kept other nice things out of my budget, like food or future pairs of shoes.
Sometime last year, when my wife and I were shopping for her car (no problem there; she knew what she wanted and she got it — woe to those who stood in her way. I like to think that’s how I ended up married.), we test drove a Prius and we liked it. We were impressed that it had a seemingly incongruous amount of power given that it runs with about one horsepower (measured by hooking up a gelding to a power cell and asking it to cough) and a 9-volt battery. Seriously, if you look under the hood, you could almost confuse it for a smoke detector and something out of your nephew’s last science project. You could replace any component in there for a very ripe lemon and still make it to Buda.
But the car is surprisingly smooth in the riding department, it looks like a friendly version of the buggy from “Moon Patrol” (minus the sky-pointing gun) and the mileage, good God, the MILEAGE, people! 45, 50, 60 mpg! Did you just hear that? That was the sound of a Ford Explorer committing hari-kari in the parking lot when it heard me typing that.
My wife concluded that the car was both “Smart” and “Cute” and said, “I can see you driving that.” These were not the words I was looking for, exactly. I didn’t hear, “Virile,” or “Hot” or “Stunning in its automotive brawl,” but “Smart” and “Cute” were the kinds of words that got me through dating in high school (those, sure, but moreso: “personality,” “smells all right” and “not the worst mullet”). The Prius was high on the list as I began my car search.
Other cars, considered and dismissed:
Cadillac CTS: Too expensive.
Cadillac CTS on a lease plan: Very tempting, but car leases scare me.
Nissan Altima and Nissan Maxima: Surprisingly high priced. We test drove the Altima and it felt like driving a small dog. I swear it drifted in an opposing direction when we passed a veterinarian’s office. The Maxima was nearly the price of a luxury sedan, and I will let you in on a secret Nissan doesn’t want you to know: the Maxima is not a luxury sedan.
Chrysler 300: Very, very nice, with an ultra-smooth and quiet ride, the kind of car you could see your grandparents driving if its completely peaceful roll didn’t conjure to mind disturbing comparisons to coffins. I was tempted by this one, but the price tag with even the bare essentials of options (wheels, say, or a steering device with which to turn them) put it just out of my price range.
So back to the Prius. I called everybody. Two whole dealerships! As you might have read, the Prius is in high demand right now and until the whips are cracked harder at the factories, the production is still woefully low for the number of granola-eating, hydrilla-saving Americans who want them. The dealership I called in Houston said they were marking up prices about $2,000 from the MSRP and the one in San Marcos said they could upsell theirs for anywhere from $3,000 to $6,000 depending on the optional gadgetry involved.
I wanted a little luxury, sure, but I told the dealers I didn’t need a navigation system or leather seats (which you can’t even get in a Prius unless the dealer installs it) and that at this point, I’d take whatever they had. For the next few weeks, I got random phone calls about cars that had just arrived on their lots. I’d get a fax or e-mail of specs, color, options, random dispatches at odd intervals, like a spy movie.
Within a few more hours, the car was sold, gone, out of my life before it even got there. I began to wonder how dire this shortage of Prii could be if dealers were calling me once a week with a new arrival. Where were these waiting lists I was hearing about?
The day before Thanksgiving, I got very lucky. The dealer in San Marcos called me to tell me a slightly used 2004 Prius had arrived on the lot and that there’d be a newspaper advertisement was going to be printed on Friday to get customers out to the dealership. (With predictable results: “Ooh, sorry, that Prius is gone. What do you think about the Gen-X friendly Scion, though? Dig that tiny square whatsit!”) I’d been insistent about test driving the Prius before I’d buy anything.
So I went. So did my dad and my grandfather. I had no idea what they’d make of this crazy hybrid wuss of a car, but they ended up liking it so much they waited with the dealer until I could make it there from work. We did an all-together-now test drive, up and down the hills of San Marcos behind the dealership. Maybe it was the magic hour or maybe the salesman had laced some PCP along the dashboard without telling us, but we felt It. The It that makes you buy a car, or a house or get engaged. This was going to be my car. We all knew it. All that was left was working out the deal.
And we did.
And now I drive a car that’s gadgety, gets great gas mileage and looks like a videogame buggy. I try not to act smug about it, but if you drive a Hummer and you see somebody in a tiny silver vehicle driving by giving you the finger … well, I can’t promise that won’t be me.
I can’t wait to pimp out my ride for that commute from New Braunfels. They do make 20s that spin for the Prius, right?
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