The 2007 Prius: Best Car I Ever Owned
2 min read
It was 2007. I was eight years deep in the ownership of a, let’s say, “popular American SUV.” As many of you owning such SUVs know, the eighth can be an emotionally taxing and expensive anniversary. One day I’m adding new shocks, the next I am replacing the muffler, and let’s not forget that gas just tripled in price. I accepted all of these expenses, figuring they just went hand and hand with car ownership. But one day, a straw was placed on this camel’s back, effectively breaking it.
I went to get an oil change. I noticed the attendants walking circles around my car while scratching their heads. They later informed me that they could not get the hood open. I had enough. I had enough of paying what seemed to be a monthly $400 repair bill. I had enough of spraying WD40 on all of the hinges and latches so I could successfully enter my vehicle. I had enough of paying $70 every time I wanted to fill up my tank; later, burning a gallon of that fuel 15 miles at a time. I had enough and bought a 2005 Toyota Prius.
I have never been happier. After I signed the paperwork and made my down payment, I met up with some friends and told them the news. One of them asked me what color it was. I didn’t even remember. I didn’t even care. I felt like I just bought a Lamborghini. That’s how cool I felt. That’s how happy I was.
In 2007 people still thought they had to plug Priuses in overnight or that they ran on pixie dust and witchcraft. And to be honest with you, it felt like that was what powered mine. It didn’t make a sound. It just hovered where you wanted it to go. And in the snow, my Prius would magically float in and out of snow banks. One snowy winter day in Buffalo, NY I remember cruising the City looking for a part of town that didn’t get plowed yet. I looked down a street and noticed three cars stuck in the middle of an intersection. I drove directly into the intersection and stopped in the middle of them. I looked in the eyes’ of every trapped motorist, smiled, and pulled myself out of the mix; laughing all the way to the gas station at a rate of 55 miles per gallon.
