The Rolling Stones, Tattoo You, compact disk slid out of the cd/cassette car stereo. One more thing my seller forgot. I found the baby shades, the pacifier, and the lipstick from the glove box before Keith Richard’s and I drove away. After ten years of driving around in my light blue 1989 Toyota Celica, from Sheboygan, Wisconsin, I had finally done it. I bought myself a younger Subaru Forester from California. This was not an easy feat. Not financially, logistically, nor even emotionally.

I work for myself as a freelance writer and business consultant. Every first of the month I pay myself a salary and hope for a new contract to replenish my stash. A few months ago one arrived promising enough money to buy a car outright, “pre-owned”
of course.

“Get a loan,” my brother advised. “Money runs cheap these days. It’s worth the interest.”

In my mind I’d have 25% more bills each month.

“Take the money that you would have paid to the seller,” my brother continued, “and put it in for automatic withdraw. That way, you’ll still have cash for the ‘just in cases’.”

Convinced that a loan was the right way to go, I started the borrowing process.

Over the telephone, my banker and I reviewed each step. “To verify your income,” she said, “we’ll need to see your employment check stub, or you can bring in last year’s income tax forms.”

Problem. I don’t get a check each month. And, thanks to my accountant, my earnings from last year were too low to even warrant a Dreamsicle from the local convenience store much less a car loan. I suggested to the woman that she take my 1099 forms, the official tax documents from the corporations I consulted with. These, along with my excellent credit rating provided the go ahead for my loan.

Next, logistics. I knew that I wanted an SUV type of vehicle with a hatch back, large enough to put my bike in, and small enough to get good gas mileage. I settled on the Subaru Forester for its comfort and longevity. Using the Internet and the classifieds I started calling. (CONTINUE...)