Silicon Valley Wealth and my Crappy Car
An old friend of mine has worked at Facebook for years. A while back he sold me his 2001 Volvo wagon with 138,000 miles for $5600.
It was a good deal and I was thrilled. A solid used car. Nothing to brag about.
My wife and I don’t have a lot of expendable income. She hates it when I say things like that. I have a habit of playing up our financial guard rails. And I feel an urge to apologize for what we have.
Yes, we live in Burlingame but I’d like you to know it is because we timed the real estate market just right. Our two-week vacation in Ireland? Only possible because we stayed with relatives.
Downplaying our status is especially ridiculous with friends and neighbors. As a rule, the people we mix with at the kids’ school, grocery store, and park are direct participants in the tech gold rush. They head to Rio de Janeiro on vacation and have his-and-her Lexus wonder twins in the driveway.
These are my friends. They work hard, have good values and are enjoying what they earned. When I sheepishly insist we only bought the big screen TV because there was a great deal at Costco, they may get the deal part but they don’t get the I-need-to-apologize part. Comfortable in their own skin, I guess.
After three years, I tell myself I still drive this 176,000-mile timepiece because it keeps me loyal to my parents’ values and economics. Who cares that as a child, our Pontiac Sunbird overheated half way to Disneyland, stranding us on Highway 5.
Is owning this car a sign of character? I ponder while driving home from work, music blaring from one speaker.
No, you can’t earn a Good Person Card by owning a dumpy car. But I may have earned a sanction from the Universe for allowing myself to think otherwise.
The car has been slowly and now suddenly, falling apart.
There is coolant and oil all over my driveway. Handles and knobs are falling off. Check engine alerts of various colors and tempos. Odors and vapors. One tire has a slow leak. So I’m driving around with half a flat.
I recently drove a coworker to a work event. I told her “it’s a clunker, but safe.” She didn’t look thrilled. I could have added “it’s filthy but tidy.”
My badge of middle-class honor is now a real life embarrassment, beyond my capacity to persevere. Perhaps my father should have chosen corporate America rather than teaching. Maybe then we would have made it all the way to Disneyland rather than Visalia.
Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of extra money to buy a car right now. So I’m back on the hunt for a castoff vehicle. I won’t touch a Sunbird, but I’m not likely to get a Tesla. I’ll have to settle for an older model BMW.
A tear forms when I think of my children being driven around in a European sports car made in the last decade. The horror. Hopefully the mail man will at least celebrate us as the middle-class heroes we are — to be glorified in this sea of wealth and privilege.
Thanks for listening. I’d be honored if you hit Recommend ❤ if you thought this story was redeeming in any way. Thanks very much.
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