Recently, I did something I never thought I would ever do, or at least not for another decade or two until I was really old.
I shed my car.
This is the 2017 low-mileage Prius Prime Advanced, plug-in hybrid car that I had paid to have professionally transported ($700) to Oak Park from New York when I moved here a year ago.
This is the car that I bought a new battery for ($250) last summer in the hope it would get me through the cold Chicago winters without going dead. (Spoiler alert: it did not!)
This is the car I had blessed with new tires last fall ($650) to get me through driving in the snow (which in fact I never did and not just because there was next to no snow this year) and the same car on which I spent big bucks ($900) to replace an amplifier that prevented the car’s GPS from talking to me (on those rare occasions when I was, in fact, driving).
In the end, I had to conclude I just did not need this car (my husband has a “pre-DOGE” Tesla) or the parking space I paid for or the insurance and car registration fees I was required to have, let alone the hassle and stress of getting the car jumped multiple times when the new battery died because the car was almost never being used.
Even to say “almost never used” implies more use that it got. After living in Illinois six months, it still had New York gas. The pressure to take it out for a spin to charge up the battery was getting to me. I stressed over it. I used Post-it Notes to remind me to go for a drive.
I did use the car for an occasional run to the supermarket but not much else. Why would I when I could walk everywhere? I live near the Green Line CTA and Metra stops, across from Target, around the corner from Whole Foods, a block from the vibrant Oak Park business district and just a few blocks from the offices of Wednesday Journal, where I am a part-time volunteer editor. Most important of all, I am walking distance to the home of my two granddaughters (and their parents), the main reason I moved to Oak Park.
In addition, I could order anything I wanted on Amazon (Yes, for political reasons I wanted to boycott Target and Amazon and Whole Foods, but much to my embarrassment, have not risen to this occasion).
I have owned a car since I was 21 and began my first job as a reporter. It was a butterscotch-colored Mustang that got, at best, 10 miles per gallon at a time gas cost about 36 cents a gallon. It was followed by other cars, none of which spoke to my heart — until I purchased a Honda Odyssey, one of the first vehicles to include GPS. That feature revolutionized my life, taking away my fear of getting lost.
Getting rid of that car was emotional. I had no such heart-felt affection for my Prius. Nonetheless, could I part with it — or more specifically car ownership? What of my independence? (Think: Driving Miss Daisy.)
Finally my head won out. I filled out forms on Carvana and CarMax, and found that both companies would pay me a lot of money for my car. I didn’t believe they would actually give me the projected amount, but they did. It was a simple transaction. They plugged a gizmo (onboard diagnostic) into my car and found nothing wrong. They handed me a check. I posed for a final photo with “my” car and said goodbye without a tear. Then I notified insurance companies, motor vehicles and my friends via Facebook. (I got lots of ‘likes.’)
For several days thereafter, I fantasized that my car, like a homing pigeon or Lassie, would find its way “home” to my garage. It has not.
I have no regrets. But I do have a concern: I’m not sure I want to be seen driving a Tesla.