The Best Time to Buy a Used Car is When it’s New

“You can keep the extra steering wheel.”

I remember the car salesman saying that because it’s not something I hear every day.

I was a whippersnapper buying a car that wasn’t secondhand. A few more hands than that were involved, but it hid its rust well, wasn’t haunted, and had an AM radio that could find WDGY and its pulsating rock and roll most days. The car didn’t run on silence — that goes without saying.

And the car had an extra steering wheel in the trunk in case I ever needed to change the steering wheel on the road. It looked as if it’d work as a replacement for the car’s steering wheel, and it was in better shape than the spare tire beside it in that trunk. I accepted the magnanimous offer without hesitation and bought the car. It had a smell, but it wasn’t a new-car smell. I drove off the lot with a smile like a wave across a slop pail because I had a car with a spare steering wheel.

I had a push lawn mower, and I’d just become the owner of a push auto. It came with a warranty that said if I had any problems, I could sell the car.

I thought of that day when visions of a different car danced in my current head. I lack vulnerability to car commercials, so they hadn’t got me thinking about new wheels. I like my car. I’m not disappointed with it. It’s dependable and appears to enjoy my company. What caused me to think about a change was my car’s high mileage, but even in a life filled with change, change isn’t easy.

I’ve been driving since the dawn of the Industrial Revolution, and I thought I’d be driving a George Jetson flying car by now.

Cars are very social. They travel in a horde that varies from a stampede to a committee. There are palaces on wheels and balloons that had been popped — cars abandoned on roadsides with scribbling by police officers on the windows that tells a tale, leaving evidence of the foibles of drivers and horseless carriages. I encounter new vehicles zooming down the roads. The autos flashed multi-colors like a flock of macaws taking flight. Snazzy cars freighted with sizable car payments. They were UFOs — Unidentified Fast Oxcarts.

What does a fellow do if he wants a snazzy flivver with fewer miles? He goes looking for one. There are car lots with lots of cars.

One problem is that my head is not bursting with knowledge about cars. I used to change the oil, plugs, tires, etc. The key phrase is “used to.” Now, I’m completely daft about such things.

The price of a car on a dealer’s lot is easy to ascertain, but its value is not. I don’t have to wash paper plates, but a new car costs as much money as I once had nightmares about paying for a house. Spending that much moolah is as difficult as buckling my belt on the back. My wallet is made of onion leather. Whenever I open it, it makes me cry.

I kick a tire and then walk off a limp. I open the hood and then look off to the side like a confused golden retriever hoping someone throws a stick.

What do I want in a car? Comfort, safety and one that doesn’t wheeze as if it’s going uphill all the time. I like a car with six wheels — four tires to meet the road, one spare in the trunk and a steering wheel. I don’t need an extra steering wheel.

I’m far from perfect, so my car doesn’t need to be perfect. Imperfections in a car aren’t character flaws.

Leonard Cohen wrote, “Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

I found a car that had the correct number of shortcomings. I wouldn’t get any windshield wipers until the vehicle was fully paid for, but it was equipped with senior citizen blinkers that turned off after five miles. It was a good deal.

But I didn’t buy it.

There was something about the Mitsubishi Prius that made me uneasy.