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My car has transported me through many major phases in my life. When I bought the car, it was the first major purchase of my life and my initial step to independence.
Before acquiring it, my mother graciously loaned me her 1997 navy blue Volvo station wagon to drive to and from work. It had tan leather interior, a CD player and seat warmers.
The car I had in mind for myself was slightly less sophisticated, but what I considered to be uber trendy. I loved the VW Beetles – not the vintage ones with the engine in the back – but the new versions that were sleek, shiny and perfectly round. Picking out the car was no problem. The only thing really up for debate was the color.
My dad and I drove to Murfreesboro, Tenn., to purchase the vehicle. It was a fairly pleasant experience. As soon as I saw the black Beetle, I knew it was the one for me. Even the car dealer saw the joy; she drew happy faces on each of the transactions she gave me.
I walked out of the dealership $18,000 in debt but even though I just sold my soul to the company store, it didn’t feel like enslavement. It felt like freedom.
The interior of the car was filled with the fresh scent of new car cologne. Nothing was stretched out, chipped or faded. There wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere.
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