Did you know that when you buy a car, you’re signing away your soul? I mean seriously, Crowley might as well have been sitting in front of me rather than Mike the incredibly charming salesman. (Did you see that? I can put a Supernatural reference anywhere.)
Okay, so I didn’t literally make a deal with the devil, but it sure felt like it when I signed the papers for my new Chevy Cruze. And I cannot begin to describe the amount of papers there were. My hand cramped. And I’m a journalist. All we do is write and write and write. Hand cramps were supposed to be squeezed out of me freshman year.
But buying Rally (my car, because he deserves a name) is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. On one hand, I’ve officially done something that every twenty-something wants to do: take a step towards independence. My parents won’t be helping me with the payments, the title is in my name and I got to pick out exactly what I wanted. But on the other hand, there’s still a part of me who’s stuck in kid mode and believes finding a $10 bill on the ground is like hitting the jackpot. My checking account won’t know what to do when it shells out the first payment. And my savings account sure as hell didn’t think it’d see the day where it could make a down payment on a vehicle.
But this is all part of growing up, right? It’s like my mom said (and I’m paraphrasing here), my parents got me to my adult stage of life. They’ve done their job. And now it’s my turn to do mine. And if the first task to becoming a successful and happy person is buying this car, well then I’m ready for the challenge. Because it felt good to sit in the front seat for the first time and be able to tell myself that I worked for this. That I earned this.
Sure, Rally might be my only big purchase for the next couple of years, and various Rice Sides might become my best friends, but it was worth it and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Now, the next adventure in adulthood to tackle? An apartment all my own.