Hey, I’m luxury-minded. I understand the finer things in life. Pleasures can be simple, like a dish-soap bubble bath, for instance. Quiet time to read, perhaps. The fetal position.
Life’s joy can be measured in things that cost big, too. Like telling someone what you really think, or buying produce at Lund’s in April. I understand value. And I understand that sometimes you’ve got to spend if you want to save. So it was with this attitude that I walked into the car dealership looking to buy myself a new, or even pre-owned car.
Right out of the gate, the guy had my number: Mom. Two kids. Dog. Needs to buy a car because the old one is wrapped around a tree on Minnehaha Parkway after skidding on a patch of ice. He steers me to the SUVs because, presumably, I need a space shuttle to haul my purse around. He tells me that women have single-handedly made the SUV the most popular vehicle in America because they feel safer while driving them. I climbed into a floor model. I admit, sitting up so high in the saddle was a bit of a thrill. Why, I could buy a smart green uniform, install a coin counter by the passenger door, and start a route up and down Lake Street for beer money.
One thing stuck with me—the safety issue. Searching for “safe” cars on the internet, I saw a whole new twist on the luxury vehicle: the armored sedan. Cadillac designed them with politicians in mind, and other people who inspire random acts of violence. But now they are the new must-have extravagance for post-9/11 conspicuous consumers. You know, for those times when your Humvee is just too sporty. The sedan has run-flat tires, bullet-resistant windows, and a modified chassis to support the extra weight of the car. I couldn’t help thinking that a few features are missing. I mean, if you have defense, you’ve got to have offense. How about a flipping wedge and whirling titanium juicer blades? Of course, the smashing mallet would be optional, along with the butt-warmers in the winter package.
How safe do I need to be? Say I make it through gunplay, shrapnel, and a high-speed chase. What happens when I have to get out of the car for lunch? Maybe I can hire Tom Ridge to wash my salad greens. The meek might not inherit the earth, but as far as I can tell, they have access to just about everything you are likely to put into your mouth. And if anybody starts doing sustained background checks on entry-level, minimum-wage workers, forget it. There won’t be enough qualified personnel to staff a Starbucks.
I ended up buying a younger version of the same car I wrecked. A stationwagon. I can fit my purse in it, and I feel secure knowing that other motorists and pedestrians will never suspect me of spending more for less. Some people can buy the illusion of safety. The rest of us buckle up.
Colleen Kruse is a Twin Cities actress and comedian. Send safety recommendations by email to mscolleenkruse@hotmail.com
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