In my lifespan, my mom has had as many cars as I have had since 1999.
When I was a little kid, she had a Chevette she called Betsy. From elementary school to about I was in eighth grade or so, she had a Mercury Capri named Dominic. Until about 2006, she had a Plymouth Acclaim named Samantha. Currently, she has a 2000 Dodge Intrepid also named Samantha. On occasion, she would call both Samanthas Betsy.
Currently, she’s in the market for an SUV. Yesterday, I started the paperwork for financing online because you apparently get that started before you go to the dealership nowadays.
You’re probably wondering why I’m doing the paperwork. She only has a tablet, so it was more efficient for me to do it. And I’ve known all of her personal information for years. If I were a horrible child, I could have taken her to the cleaners three times over now.
Although it’s past time for her to jettison that 16-year-old land yacht, I’m going to miss Samantha № 2. (Not as much as Samantha № 1, though — until I got my own car, it was the one I drove when I first got my license.)
I’ll miss it because it was a boat. When I first moved to the Richmond metro area, I’ll park my car at my mom’s house when I mainly visited my friends and brothers and headed into the night with hers. It was practical, I could fit a lot of people in that beast. It also rode pretty well and was my lifesaver in a pinch.
When I moved to actual Richmond, she was my noble steed until I purchased Nicole on Feb. 28, 2009. Additionally, whenever I needed to have work done to any of my cars, my mom would let me borrow it indefinitely. I had it for about a week when I still worked at the Petersburg newspaper, for example.
Our greatest trip was when I took Sam to Washington, D.C. Driving in D.C. itself was awful, because I forgot it was the 100th anniversary of the Cherry Blossom Festival that year, but it was proof she had what it takes to get around the city. My mom already was worried back in 2012 about it surviving outside the confines of the Peninsula.
So, much like the oft-delayed move out of her house, we began talks about her getting a new car. Nearly five years later, we’re actually following through with the car.
We have the same ideology for of our current vehicles: We’ll drive them until the wheels fall off. Her 16-year-old beast finally is starting to fall apart. I kinda wanted her to give it to me; my original plan in North Carolina was to save up for a clunker for local rides and things of that nature. But my mom said smoke has been coming out of the exhaust and the power locks and the a/c are shot. So much for that. I don’t mind a ratty car, but I don’t want one that possibly will crap out in the middle of the street.
The SUV she’s looking at is about four years old and has a third of the mileage I’ve put on my car in nearly eight. I’ve asked if this means she’ll come visit me for a change. I haven’t gotten an answer on that yet.
One thing that is a definite is that I’m going to hop behind the driver’s seat whenever I go to Hampton.