May 10, 2019
Dear Everyone:
Last month “Jeannie” needed to consult with someone at my
Credit Union,
of which she is a member through me.
Something to do with her
Home Equity Line of Credit.
In the past, she could just hop over to the branch in
Concord.
But when the company sold that property, the Credit Union had to vacate
the premises. They set up a kiosk
at another local banking institution, but that wasn’t enough to meet
“Jeannie’s” needs. So she
drove down here to “Pleasanton”, where there is a branch ensconced in
the more public part of Company Park.
As long as she was down here at lunch time, we decided to go to the
Credit Union together, then have lunch.
And as long as we were at the Credit Union, I decided to look
into applying for a loan to purchase a new car.
The Credit Union has some kind of online application process, but it
really still is
Not Ready For Prime Time.
I had twice attempted to fill out the application, only to have
it disappear once I clicked “Save”. This
time, I spoke with a clerk who filled out an application inside the
system. In just a few
minutes, I was prequalified for an Auto Loan.
Within less than 48 hours, I received an automated email informing that
I was prequalified. A week
later, I got another automated email to remind me that the loan was only
good until June 10th.
Not too long after that I got another automated email reminder
again. Had I forgotten to
buy the aforementioned car?
No. I was still in Research
Mode.
I knew which make and model I wanted.
More or less the same as the 15-year-old car I was currently
driving, “Odysseus, the Golden Warrior”.
I name all my cars. It’s a
family trait. For years,
Mother’s and Dad’s cars were known as “Laverne and Shirley”.
Even the mechanics at the local auto repair shop referred to them
by name. (“Well, Mrs. Wood,
we have Laverne spread out all over the floor and we still haven’t been
able to figure out what her problem is.
But we will.”)
I have been doing my research on exactly which type of
Honda Accord I
wanted to buy. It helped
when my upstairs neighbors pulled up in their shiny new Accord; and I
could get some first-hand answers to specific questions, like how did it
handle going up that steep hill to our place?
(Answer: Just fine.)
Two days ago, I walked into the Honda dealership in nearby “Livermore”.
I knew I could probably save a few dollars if I bought the car
online; but I favor supporting local businesses.
The first sales representative to descend on me was “Wallace”.
We went into his cubicle where he prepared to determine the
“best” car to fit my needs.
I headed him off with “Accord, Touring, Hybrid”.
That undoubtedly saved us both a nice bit of time.
“Wallace” sprinted off to find some keys to onsite vehicles.
He came back with one that was a sort of light beige in color.
And it had a light gray interior, called “Ivory”.
I asked “Wallace” what exterior color was called.
He thought it was “Sandstone”.
He was wrong. I found out
later that it was called “Champaign Frost”.
Coincidentally, my soon-to-be-former car, Odysseus, is a slightly
darker beige called “Desert Mist”.
In any case, I liked the color.
And I liked the way it handled test-driving it up and down
“Livermore” Boulevard.
In short order, I had signed multiple forms and promised to deliver a
check from the Credit Union in a couple of days.
Swung by the Credit Union on the way home and got the ball
rolling.
This morning, the Credit Union called to say that the forms and check
were ready for me. I drove
down the hill in the new car, signed many, many more forms, then took
the check to the dealership.
As of this afternoon, I have a new car.
His name is “Agamemnon”.
Agamemnon (Aggy for short?) has more bells and whistles than you can
imagine. I was sitting in
the car, in my carport, leafing through the Owner’s Manual, when my
neighbors pulled in. They
were delighted to see me in a new car and confirmed that it takes some
getting used to at first.
For example, I very much like the fact that you don’t have to pull the
“key” out of your pocket to unlock the car and start the engine.
But I can’t help reaching into the pocket like I have done for
lo, these many decades.
And pushing buttons instead of using a gearshift!
All very well, but my hand just reaches for that handle by
itself. This will take some
retraining. On the other
hand, who wouldn’t love being warned when getting too close to the car
in the next parking space?
It just might help prevent some inevitable dings and scrapes.
As for Odysseus, he will become “Jeannie’s” new-to-her car; and she’ll
find something to do with Mother’s 21-year-old
Civic.
In the meantime, Odysseus is hanging around the various parking
spaces here at my complex. I
just have to move him every three days, or so, to keep it legal.
Love, as always,
Pete
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