baby, you can't drive my car

I'm kind of sad. I follow the path of least resistance and I'm fairly confident that things actually do work out how they're supposed to, so I'm not wailing in mourning or anything. But I am a little sad.

I made a list of the perfect car for me and started looking for it. That was after coming to grips with the fact that I might actually need a car, which wasn't easy and was a whole hullabaloo on its own. So I made the list, and started searching craigslist every day. And then I found it. It had 9 out of 10 of my requirements, 10 being a sun-roof and should it be that dire, could be installed after-market. It was a 2000 Honda Civic hatchback, white, with a CD player and less than 55,000 miles on it. And they were selling it for under $10K.

The ad had been up for a few days, which on craigslist is an eternity, so I didn't have much hope but emailed the lady and asked her if it was still available. Turns out she posted the ad and then went on vacation for a week, which was pretty stupid (and perhaps should have been noted more heavily as dramatic foreshadowing of the retardation to come).

So the car was still available. I was very excited. She said I could test drive it and come see it. So we drove all the way to Issaquah, which is a big hike, to see the car. We took it for a healthy test drive, and it's exactly what I want, wonderful, and I just need to get it checked by a mechanic because I know nothing about cars.

I do some research and find a place that does pre-purchase inspections, make an appointment and give the lady the after hours drop-off paperwork. I pay for it myself. Then I spend half my day getting a loan for the car.

Up front I told her the list of demands the bank had. Now they had a lot of stupid ones, but they're trying to protect against fraud -- against you saying you're buying a car with the money and instead getting a few kilos of heroin or something cause the car is their collateral. One of the legitimate requirements was that the person selling the car had to be the registered owner. And this registered owner needed to be present, alongside me, to sign the bill of sale before a notary.

Pain in the ass, but I arranged for it. Got a local mobile notary and made the appointment. Meanwhile, the woman selling the car was still looking for the car title and paperwork because she apparently wasn't actually ready to sell it and just wanted to put it on craigslist for entertainment.

After a week of appointments, and paying for mechanics, and getting the loan, and filling out DOL paperwork, she just writes me and says, "Oh sorry -- the title is in my parents' name." Of course, they couldn't live in Portland, or even San Francisco. No. They live in ALASKA.

So no car for me, after all that work and complication, and after getting pretty excited about it and making plans in my head. I'm sad. And the thing is, I can't just go find another car, because the loan was specifically for this car, and I'd have to go through all the bullcrap again with a new car, and I think their requirements are just too burdensome to deal with.

Now it's back on the GhettoSkoot®

Pity party for Kristin, and you're invited.