(not) having fits.

Maybe I shouldn't write blog entries when I am INCREDIBLY FRUSTRATED, but I'm going to take advantage of the therapeutic benefits of writing. Will you be my sympathetic audience? Can I imagine you clucking disapprovingly, raising skeptical eyebrows, and even throwing your hands up in the air at the outrage? Can I just assume that every time I tell you more of my frustrated tale, you'll go "You're kidding!" And then I can go "I KNOW!"

My car did not consult me at all about the timing when it decided to conk out. Okay, you could argue that the reason my car conked out at all is because of poor care, and you would have a valid point. But this isn't the time. I thought we had an agreement here. You are sympathetic to me.

So had my car given up the ghost a month ago, things would have been much better. Or two years from now, that would have been fine, too. But now is just an awful time to buy a car unless you have a clunker. I feel like a car that doesn't run at all is definitely a clunker, but we have to go by the government's definition. And stupid me, I went and bought a fuel-efficient car eight years ago, so the government is not interested in my plight. So I have to go and find a car now, when the lots are empty and the salesmen are laughing at the idea of haggling, and I don't even have the benefit of a federal rebate.

I do not exaggerate when I say that the cars lots are out of cars; they are not car lots, they are car fews. The first two dealerships I went to did not have the cars I wanted to test drive. They had lots of empty spaces instead. And I wasn't requesting a 1957 Astin Martin with bulletproof glass or a time-travelling DeLorean, either. Just regular ones with an automatic transmission and glass that you could shoot right through.

After driving (or being driven by my patient and helpful sister) all over town, I managed to test drive a couple of cars and decide that I didn't want a Toyota Matrix after all, I wanted a Honda Fit. You can tell just how much more I liked the Fit, based on the fact that I'm going with a car with a dumb name over a car with a mathy name. Math! In the name! It's just too bad it didn't have any Go! In the accelerator!

So now that I've decided what I want, familiarized myself with the different colors and option packages, I can call around and find out who has the best price. Except "What's your best price on a Tidewater Blue Honda Fit, just the Base Model with Automatic Transmission" soon became "I will take any color Honda Fit you have at any price. I would probably even take a dented Kia that you spray-painted 'FIT' on."

Okay, that was an exaggeration. I would sit in my existing car and make vrooming noises before I ever bought a Kia. But most dealerships didn't have any base model Fits with automatic transmissions, much less Tidewater Blue. They had Fit Sports, which is what you call it when you spend $1500 more to get a couple of speakers, chrome wheels, and a spoiler. This is the package for people who are not confident enough to drive a hatchback in the first place. And it's true, the word "hatchback" conjures up images of the old Toyota Tercel my parents used to have, but I'm over it now. I'm ready to own and drive a hatchback and I don't need a stupid Sport package.

I called dealerships four hours away. Mind you, I don't even have a car. No matter what kind of vroomy noises I make, my car won't get me to Alexandria, VA, and to ask it to do that so I can buy another car...well, you can imagine the sulking then. I was going to take the Amtrak. Until they told me they were going to charge me $600 for floor mats, mud flaps, and a racing stripe. Apparently, that is not an optional package, but they will be kind enough to take the racing strip back off for free.

Finally, I talked to someone local, who said that there were two Honda Fits who were not ashamed to be hatchbacks and that we had a possibility of getting one transferred to me. It would take a couple of days to find out and then another day or two to get here at all. I would be able to choose between Silver and White. By this time, which was four dealership visits, two days navigating websites that were built on shininess rather than usability and a day spent calling people and not getting any answers, I was worn down. I don't want to drive a silver car or a white car, but I do want to be able to go places without having to rely on the goodwill and scheduling gaps of friends and relatives. And I do really like the Fit. It's a neat little car, with great gas mileage, the Consumer Reports seal of approval, and enough room to carry a small freezer. And a dumb name. But you can't have it all.