The Golden Calf

I need something. I don't really want to need it, but still, the need exists.
Sigh. I need to go buy a car. What seemed exciting in days past, seems like drudgery now. My requirements... really cheap, reliable, good gas mileage, can fit a set of marching tenor drums (hopefully without much effort). It need not be particularly pretty, it may be showing its age...what it really needs to do is come to me, instead of me looking for it. Is there somewhere I can order that up?

How did it happen that cars became the golden calves of modern society? Why didn't I ever notice this before? I like to think of myself as completely outside the car worshipers, (though this may be a truly pathetic delusion on my part, I own a Jaguar baseball cap.) I feel like a jungle denizen, peering through the rainforest leaves at the edge of the clearing, watching the civilized folk dressed in white lawn and cotton duck sip tea and sherry around their appropriately sized campfire. Adding to the oddness of my disassociation is the fact that I used to work for a Toyota Dealer, eons ago, and also worked in Tag and Title for county government.

I have fear of car shopping. If I do not conquer this fear, indeed, master it, I will...get screwed.

Or is that not reality, and only the fear itself? I fear...I will make a mistake; I will not get a good deal; I will be lied to; I will end up unhappy with my choice; I will get something cheap and adequate then it will break down and cost me a lot of money. I fear my life will be negatively impacted by my damn car! I FEAR, and this is huge, that someone else will tell me I made the wrong decision, and how much better some other choice would have been. The tea swilling, pith helmeted Judge of all my decisions will pass me a crumpet and mildly remark, "Well, you know Dear, my cousin is an importer of xxxx and I could have gotten you yyyy and did you consider zzzz...."

Okay, so now, I look at that last paragraph. What a false god the automobile is.
I appreciate your doing this exercise with me. I feel better knowing you are with me. Why do I have these fears?

Makes me think of something Dr. Phil says, though tongue-in-cheek. He says, "How do you know when a teenager is lying?....His lips are moving." I might change that to fit here, "How do you know when a car salesman is lying?"... And why do I have excessive fear of breakdown and repairs? Because I have owned a VW Passat Wagon and a Jaguar. Anecdotal evidence, sure, but cut open my brain and look for the large mass of scar tissue and tangled neurology filed under "VW." (How do you know a VW salesman/mechanic is honest? No one has killed him yet)

Okay, then. The pep talk. I believe I can, and will, find a cheap little car that gets good gas mileage to run back and forth to my classes, that I won't fret over if it gets dinged up, that won't become attached to any part of my ego, and will happily get its oil changed at any darn oil change place I happen to drive by. (Unlike the albatross I call my Jaguar) I can and will get a good deal, and I can and will be satisfied with my choice, because I made it.

On my knees, I prayerfully ask of you, little car of the cosmos, to reveal yourself to me.

Golden calf? Now it all makes sense. Pass the sherry and throw another log on that fire while I surreptitiously remove the bone from my nose. I say, nice party, chap!
(pay no attention to that angry bearded man throwing those stone tablets off the mountain over there...)