Cars

I want to buy a car. I don’t need a car. I live in Brooklyn. I have no place to put a car but I want to buy a car because buying a car feels like the next step in becoming an adult and I am deeply in need of next steps.

I go home at Thanksgiving and I feel like a kid again and so I need to buy a car because kids don’t have cars of their own. (Older) kids drive their parents’ cars at the end of their time being kids, but kids don’t have car insurance. I want to have car insurance and I want to worry about alternate side parking and whether or not it is a holiday. I want to get tickets in the mail for running red lights and I want to get tickets in person for endangering the lives of pedestrians by turning through an occupied crosswalk.

I am a single person and have been a single person for most of my life which means that I have largely missed out on the whole adult thing of being in a relationship. I have lived with people but have never lived with a person who I have shared a bed with and so I am looking forward to owing a car. I want to be able to talk to my coworkers about how I have to drive out to Hempstead this weekend to get my snow tires put on before the weather gets too bad. I want to “have a guy” at a local repair shop that I go to whenever I need to get my car tested for emissions standards (or whatever it’s called). I want to have a way to get to Storm King because I’ve never been to Storm King.

A few years ago I was drinking with a friend of mine (Friend 1) at a dive bar off of the Jefferson L stop (you know the one). We were drinking like there was no tomorrow because at the rate we were drinking there would be no tomorrow. Friend 2 had spent all day on the set of a television show for a prominent streaming service (you know the one) and was not there for most of the imbibing session but had texted us hours ago saying he was “on the way.”

“Where the fuck is (Friend 2),” I said to Friend 1 on more than one occasion, shouting over Johnny Cash playing on the bar’s Spotify. Eventually Friend 2 texted: “Outside.” I generally consider myself to be a funny person, and I will even attempt to be fun if I’ve had several glasses of rail whiskey, and so rather than getting into the front seat of Friend 2’s car, I went around to the front and banged on the hood of his car. “WOOOOOO!”

“Scott, what the fuck are you doing?!” said Friend 2. “Get in the car. Seriously.” Friend 1 was laughing.

“Yeah, Scott,” I said to myself. “You are fucking funny. And fun”

I eventually did get in and a few blocks later got to understand what being fun and funny gets you: red and blue lights lit up in the rear view mirror and each of us had to take in that we were being pulled over. “You fucking serious?” said Friend 2. “God damn it.”

The police officer got out of his car and slowly sauntered towards us. Gotta love the NYPD and their stellar bedside manner (but also all three of us were white). “License and registration, please.” Friend 2 pulled out his license and got the registration from the glove compartment. “You been drinking tonight?”

“No,” said Friend 2.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” said Friend 2.

“You don’t need to use that tone with me, sir. I was just asking if you had been drinking.”

“Well, I haven’t,” said Friend 2.

“What were you doing out in front of a bar?”

“Picking up my friends. They’ve been drinking,” said Friend 2.

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure about what?” said Friend 2.

“I’m asking the questions here, sir. Where are you headed.”

“My apartment,” said Friend 2.

“And where is that?”

“Bushwick,” said Friend 2.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I think that I know where I live!” said Friend 2.

“You sure that you weren’t drinking?”

“Look, I’m being a good person,” said Friend 2. “I was being a good person. I just picked up my friends at a bar. That’s a good thing to do. I haven’t had a drop. If you wanna breathalyze me then go ahead.”

“Look, sir. I’ll decide what I’m gonna do here.” (Long pause.) “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you officer! Have a good night!” I said.

I want to buy a car so that I can pick my friends up at shitty bars in Bushwick and drive them home. I want to buy a car so that I can get harassed by the NYPD for having a car. I want to buy a car so that my friends will buy me a 6-pack of Lagunitas after I get harassed by the NYPD because one of them pounded on the roof of my car after coming out of a dive bar off of the Jefferson L stop.

I want to buy a car because I want to feel good about myself. Nothing else had made me feel good about myself. So maybe that will. I hope that that will because I’m 28 now and can’t think of anything else.