If I Had the Nissan Pathfinder My Life Would Be Perfect

Or damn near it.

Casey Dexter
Published in
3 min readJun 8, 2020


If I had the Nissan Pathfinder everything would just be… perfect. With its sleek design and low engine purr, I’d be unstoppable. I wouldn’t be your average CPA. I’d be a legend.

Known for its rugged capability, the Pathfinder is perfect for piling in the gang for a road trip or hauling heavy bags of mulch up to the yard or pulling off the greatest heist known to man.

See, my compact car doesn’t serve my family like it used to. It smells like the kids’ grape juice, has no room in the trunk, and could never act as the getaway car after robbing the bank where I work on Chester Street. The three-row flex seating of the Pathfinder comfortably fitting me and two burly, no-nonsense accomplices… That slick non-stick leather resistant to the sweat pouring off our faces after having committed the most deceptive trickery ever seen…

The Pathfinder is understated, modest.


Cost-effective. I’m not made of money here. Not yet, at least.

The Nissan Intelligent mobility would know me better than I know myself. And I’d need it to. With my head wrapped around the careful pilferage I’d spent weeks tinkering with, I need a car that knows its own blind spots. And can turn on its fog lights. It wouldn’t doubt my prowess and pass me up for promotion like my dumb boss, Keith!

I’d smile from the driver’s seat as I sped away, staying cool and calm thanks to the tri-zone climate control system effortlessly penetrating my ski mask. Grateful for the Nissan’s wide-body easily stowing the shanghaied Benjamin Franklins under the WeatherTech floor mats…

I’ve worked at the bank too long not to treat myself to the optimum SUV on the market for this caper. Amateurs go for flashy, but finishers go for the Nissan Pathfinder. Do you think Seth the “brilliant financial analyst” in his showy red Tesla could ever sack up and plunder that place? You better start bringing your own lunch to work, Seth, because once this is over you’re gonna have to steal someone else’s turkey rollups!

That’s right. By this time on Tuesday I’ll have done the deed. Right at four o’clock. Or whenever Scott from loans leaves (he’s no one really, just has big muscles and could potentially ‘act the hero’). Let’s see the team ever forget my birthday and then last-minute act like they didn’t and present me a nameless (you couldn’t inscribe it?) lemon cake (ew) and freezer-burned ice cream (surely leftover from Tammy’s birthday) ever again!

A man who drives a Pathfinder commands respect. Authority. The millions stashed in the vault caddy-corner to Keith’s office to which I figured out the password all-too easily (1–9–6–7, the year of the Grateful Dead’s first album, bleh — why are all bank managers deadheads?). Once I get those millions, life will really begin.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. Hi, I’m Rick and I’m looking to buy a car today.



Casey Dexter

Casey lives in London and works in publishing and entertainment.