PSYCHED OUT
A Widow Bit – May 22, 2011
By Mary Koch

            Over the past couple weeks I have been travelling through foreign, mystical lands – also known as car sales lots. My two venerable vehicles – a 1993 Chevrolet van and 1994 Chrysler convertible – testify that my forays into the car shopping milieu are rare.

            I was driven to it (sorry) when one of the power windows on the convertible refused to close. The window will cost nearly as much to repair as the car’s value. And it’s been raining. Then a neighbor who was partially disabled by a stroke expressed interest in the van, which had been a gift to my late husband from fellow newspaper publishers following his stroke. The time was right to pass the van to its next owner.

            Consequently I have been wandering, amazed and dazed, from car lot to car lot. Usually, I pay no notice to others cars except to avoid close contact while driving. I was not prepared for the incredible array of makes and models, from big to small, utilitarian to sporty to luxurious. While I don’t need a car to accommodate a family, there’s at least one model that is marketed specifically to dog owners like me.

            I was hoping to combine various features that I’ve appreciated about the van and convertible into a single vehicle. That narrowed it down from a few thousand choices to a few hundred.

            “I wish I knew what you want, Mary,” said one salesman.

            “So do I,” I responded. I took a day to figure it out and reported back to him: “I want the best possible car at the least possible price.” He looked at me analytically, because selling cars has little to do with the cars and everything to do with the customer’s psychological needs. The point at which those two traverse lines cross, where best-possible-car meets least-possible-price, is buried somewhere deep in my psyche.

            I like to tell myself that I own a car simply for transportation. I don’t want my car to make a statement about me. But it does. For many of us, our car is part of how we express ourselves – just like the clothes we choose to wear.

            “I can SEE you in that car,” enthused a saleswoman when I asked to test drive a red Jeep Compass. I wondered what image I project that made the Jeep seem so complimentary.

            After many miles of test driving I-don’t-know-how-many cars, I’m about “to pull the trigger,” as the analytical salesman put it. I’m about to choose between a relatively low-cost, practical vehicle that will provide basic transportation and a higher-priced model, loaded with bells and whistles along with impressive warranties.

            Two sides of my personality are in conflict: the sunny, outward part of me that is practical and economical versus the self-indulgent, shadow personality that yearns for comfort and ease. OR, maybe it’s the shadow personality that’s causing this conflict, making me feel guilty for considering a more expensive car.

            Only a psychologist could sort this out, or someone who sells cars.