An open letter to General Motors

Dear GM,
Can I call you GM? I know it presumes a certain relationship between us, but you’ve taught me so much since I bought my Saturn in 2005 that this type of familiarity only seems appropriate.

There I was, at the Saturn dealership getting my old Saturn wagon (with the leather seats, I might add) inspected and checked out before I started taking it on a daily commute that was going to rival the distance and time that even my friends who traveled out of state would drive every day. The green darling had just passed the 100,000 mile mark, and it concerned me to think about the hills and highways that would challenge the automatic transition and 4-cylinder engine.

What would really be neat, a voice inside my head whispered, would be a smaller, quicker car, with fewer miles to ease my tormented thoughts about getting stranded on the twisted mountain roads that almost existed as part of Eisenhower’s Interstate dream, but ended up as a state route with the lovely (but accurate) moniker “Highway of Death”.

But I’m getting lost in nostalgia here. Dreaming of a misty time when I was close to actually owning a car of my own, instead of in living in the tenuous state known as “unsecured debt”. It’s all hindsight, this acknowledgement of the lessons you’ve taught me. Little did I know in 2005 that we would have so much in common.

After the wonderful sales person helped me achieve my alloy wheeled-XM radio-six CD changer-5 on the floor-sun roof-dream I was welcomed into a very popular club; though there was no pomp and circumstance for new members. Quietly, I became the latest debt-kateer in the upside down club.

You know the upside down club. Don't act all confident with me and take a sip from your cup while staring me straight in the eye and saying you have no idea what I'm talking about.

And no, its not the club where we run out to the playground and hang by our knees from the bars next to the swings.

We did find ourselves with cars, or boats, or motorcycles, or some other sundry-shiny new toy that, the instant we got it off the lot, it was worth FAR LESS than we were in debt for. Not just depreciated, as shiny new toys do, but with a loan amount and quickly accruing interest that meant we would pay at least twice what the value of the toy was when it was displayed so nicely on your lot.

Most likely the loan was with some distant National bank that you were also friends with; instead of the local credit union who was a friend to both of us.

The sales person forgot to mention the credit union. Maybe if they’d been aware that we were all friends a nice arrangement could have been made. Or maybe the credit union would have let me know that you hung out with friends who I didn’t have a whole lot in common with. Bad friends. Friends who would lie to me about how pretty my dress was, and then turn around and make a face to the rest of the group.

Or maybe the credit union would have let me know that you weren’t really my type either. Even though you seemed so honest and flattering. Telling me I deserved this shiny toy, and that the payment would be close to what I was paying already.

Oh, now don’t go getting the wrong idea. I don’t harbor so many hurt feelings that I can’t see you are now in a tight spot yourself. You must have talked to the same sales person who sold me the car. They told you that it’s a good idea, a solid idea, to make cars that need to have their bearings packed with grease every year after the harsh winter salt eats away the protective layer. And the suspension creaks when you drive over a penny.

They told you it was a good idea to put the battery in the trunk.

They told you it was a good idea to make the rims out of aluminum that would chip or split with impact.

They told you it was a good idea to make the body’s shell out of plastic.

And that it was a good idea to use a fabric that would spot when rain dripped in through the window seals.

Heck, I bought that bill of goods too. See how alike we are?

Let me just mention here, that times have been tough since I went upside down. The commute really was too long, and in just over a year that shiny Saturn saw over 100,000 miles added to its history. A shorter commute and a pay cut later I was still paying off the loan, even though it meant having to cut back on a few luxuries. Less eating out; less opening nights at the movies. It was, after all, my mistake.

Eventually I got a job so close to home that driving the car every day was unnecessary. But times got tougher. The economy wanted to get up in the morning less and less. It pulled the covers up over its head; though the dog whimpered for morning walkies every day.

This has affected both of us. I have been through a temporary layoff, and watched as my earning and spending power has been buffeted about by this persistent storm. You are following the economy’s lead, and have bought a brand new blanket to hide under until all the foul winds blow over.

Here’s where you have truly tested our friendship, GM.

Let me introduce you to a new friend. My husband. A dedicated employee of the auto gaskets industry who has given years of his life to pushing buttons so gaskets will be produced and sent to you. To make trucks, sure; not shiny Saturns. Still, he has shown you support as I have, even when times got tough.

So imagine my distress upon hearing of your actions. We had an agreement, of sorts. Even when my income suffered I continued to support you so our friendship would, at least, remain amicable. If we were to meet accidentally we could still smile and ask how the kids were doing.

No more, GM. No more. You have ground the road out from under me.

Please don’t be surprised to find the final gesture of our friendship on your lawn with the keys locked inside. I only ask that you tell your “friends” not to contact me anymore either. I’ve returned your friendship, and as such we have nothing left to say to one another.

L


*This open letter to GM is slightly fictitious, and somewhat misleading about the nature of loans. After all, once GM got their money from the bank we all know that they didn’t care much about me anymore anyway.
I do, however, continue to drive the token of our friendship. Though in my heart it is now more akin to an albatross than anything else.