Monday, October 31, 2005

Dingatitis is a disease to which the AMA turns a blind eye, despite the untold suffering of millions and the unchecked prescriptions of tens of millions. For every buyer who frets over the newness of his automobile, curbs the desire to spend hours wiping the hood with an old shirt, there are ten acquaintances who would eagerly dispense remedies, medical degrees be damned. Park as you normally would. Park in the boonies. 87 octane is fine. Only 93 goes in that spout. Don’t break 55 mph for at least a month. Blow it out to 150 mph and you’ll never hear a rattle.

The ’06 9-3 Linear. Black like a warlock’s cuticles, enough buttons to souse a grandmother, hums with alien technology upon ignition–that’s the poison. The 150 mph tidbit was offered by the fellow who sold the car to me, so its veracity might be enhanced. Since Saturday I’ve suffered mild symptoms of dingatitis, which extend beyond the ailment’s etymological roots. Keeping the mats pristine. Looking out my apartment window to make sure the car’s still there. Checking for scratches. That kind of thing.

It’s all pretty stupid, really, and I believe the best advice came from my mum. Things are made to be used. She didn’t raise her kids to worry over possessions with a diaper. Really, in the end, it’s about that very first scratch. Heck, I have half a mind to bring a sledgehammer to the sedan and cause it violence, such would the entire process be accelerated.

Short and seamless, the dealership experience was markedly different from my trip to Carmax. Advice I had collected such as buying at the end of the month, negotiating in stages, and using the phone to good effect? They seemed to work. At one point I asked a staff member whether the wheels would detach as soon as I left the lot, and he chuckl– Actually, no, he looked horrified.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out what to wear to the weekly Saab enthusiast dinner, where we will discuss our online forum postings and plan community outings. Ha! Made you look.