The Great Car Election

The first rays of sunlight peeked through my curtains, and I nearly tripped over my slippers as I sprang out of bed. My paycheck had cleared. I had slept on the decision. It was time to buy a car.

Long had I wanted a Jeep Cherokee SUV. For my needs, it was the perfect vehicle: small enough to negotiate a city, big enough to sleep in at rest stops, powerful enough to pull a camper on long trips. A used one would be cheap enough for me to afford.

I was all set to visit the dealership when I received a phone call. The automated voice on the other end began speaking before I even said hello.

“Congratulations on your decision to purchase an automobile. The purchase of an automobile is an important decision that will affect many people. In the interest of the public good, an online vote has been initiated. Rest assured: Your desires will be properly factored in, as you will be able to vote yourself. Votes will be tabulated at 3:00 p.m.”

In my excitement, I had forgotten about this newly implemented procedure, but I couldn’t argue with the logic: My decision did affect everyone else, so it was only fair that everyone have a say. There’s nothing more important than the public good.

I had to canvas and influence votes. I would have to be at my persuasive best if I wanted that SUV. I started where anyone with any sense would start: Mom. She answered my call right away.

“Hey Mom, I’m gonna buy a car today and I know exactly what I want: a 2016 Jeep Cherokee SUV. It’s affordable, fuel efficient, but also versatile enough for me. You should have a link in your email; all you’ve gotta do is log on and vote.”

“Well, Trev, that sounds well and good … but you know me, I want to make sure you’re safe. Is this the safest car you can find?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “It’s got airbags and all, and scored pretty well on safety tests, but I don’t think it’s quite #1.”

“What’s #1 for safety?”

I did a quick Google search. “Says here that the Honda Insight is the safest car on the road, and that the Cherokee I had my eye on ranks #14.”

“I want you to be happy, Trev, but I’m still your mother. I’ve been worrying about you since the moment you were born. It’s only natural. I’m gonna vote for that Honda Insight. I hope you’ll understand.”

“Sure I do, Mom. I know you want the best for me, but I also know that you’ve got your own perspective. I get it.”

As I was hanging up with my mom, my roommate wandered into the living room.

“Hey Kyle, I’m getting ready to buy a car … you don’t care what I get, right? You mind voting for a Jeep Cherokee SUV? It’ll only take a second.”

“An SUV, huh? What makes you want one of those?”

I told him my reasoning: that it was the most practical, versatile car for my lifestyle.

“Here’s the thing, man. I’ve already got a car myself. What I don’t have is a bike, and I’d really, really like to have a bike for getting around the city. I’m thinking if you get a bike, I could borrow it.”

“I suppose …” I said, and he cut me off: “Just when you’re not using it, of course.”

“So then you’re gonna vote for ‘Bike?’”

“Yeah, Trev, I think so. Just like you get to vote for your best interests, I vote for mine.”

I was 0/2; the morning’s enthusiasm was beginning to fade, but there was still time and work to be done. Who else would my decision affect?

I knocked on my neighbor’s door. I didn’t know much about her, but we’d always exchanged cordial waves when getting the mail.

“Hi — Trevor from next door,” I said when she asked who it was. She opened up. “What can I do for ya?”

“I’m getting ready to buy a car, and I really want an SUV, but before I can buy it, everyone has to vote. Which makes sense, if you think about it, but I’m not having much luck so far getting what I want.”

I could see the gears turning; she twisted her mouth in thought.

“Ya know, the thing about an SUV is that it’s on the bigger side.”

“Right. That’s partly why I’m interested in it. I mean, it’s not as big as a pickup truck or anything, but I want to be able to put the back seats down and sleep in there on trips, and be able to pull a pop-up camper or tiny house.”

“And I get that,” my neighbor said. “But it’s already tough to find parking on the street here. There are so many big cars already. Could I interest you in a small little car that won’t take up as much space?”

“Um, actually I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Oh, so have I. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, driving around in circles looking for a place to squeeze in. Yeah, I think I’m gonna vote for one of those two-door Smart cars.”

“Ok,” I said as I turned away.

As the day wore on, I made more phone calls, to everyone I could think of whom my decision would affect. I got nowhere with the local chapters of the People’s Climate Movement, Honor the Earth, and Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance. They all told me they were voting en bloc for a Tesla. I even called the car dealership where I was going to buy the car; if anyone would be on my side, it should be them.

Again, my efforts were frustrated. The salespeople, owners, and even the receptionists told me they were going to vote for me to buy the $19 million-dollar Lamborghini that just came out. “I’ve gotta feed my family,” one salesperson said, “and this will bring in a nifty little commission.”

Slowly but surely, the votes poured in from every corner of the country. As the clock struck the 3:00 deadline, the 2002 Oldsmobile Alero nudged ahead of the 2007 Toyota Carolla.

The Alero had just about none of the features I was interested in. There would be no tiny-house or camper; there would hardly be enough room in the trunk to fit my hockey equipment and golf clubs. There wasn’t even a kick-ass stereo to offset my disappointment.

I took solace, though: This was the choice the public had made, and the common good is more important than my individual, selfish desire for an SUV.

I texted James, my oldest and best friend, for a ride to the dealership to sign the paperwork and pay for my Alero. He came right over.

“Just out of curiosity, Jamesy, how’d you vote?”

“I didn’t vote, Trev.”

“WHAT?” I demanded. “Did you not get the email?”

“I got the link, yeah. Just didn’t seem like it was my place to influence your decision.”

“But the kind of car I drive affects you, too! It affects the quality of your air, your ability to find parking, even the price of your own car.”

“That’s all true. But if I’d voted, then I’d be saying it’s ok for everyone else to vote on my next car. I’d rather just decide for myself.”

“But … it was your duty to vote!”

“Eh,” James shrugged, “I figured what’s best for you is to let you do what suits you, even if it doesn’t suit me. My hope is that you’ll return the favor someday.”

“For you, I’d do anything. But so help me god, the next time my stupid neighbor wants to buy a car, I’m gonna vote for an armored tank. She won’t be able to park it anywhere! And the next time that salesperson wants a car, I’m gonna vote for the cheapest piece of junk from 1982 I can find.”

“Hey,” James said, “it’s a beautiful game. They get to screw up your carefully considered decisions, you get to screw up theirs, and ultimately nobody gets what they want.”

If you enjoyed this story — and even if you didn’t — you should check out my book, Ticketless: How Sneaking Into The Super Bowl And Everything Else (Almost) Held My Life Together.