1. College
The coldest winter of my life was 1993-94. This was the winter I graduated from college. I graduated in the middle of the year, because I only needed 3 ½ years to collect the necessary credits at the small private college where I went to school. Financially, this made sense, since tuition at the time still cost more than I or my parents could pay. So I borrowed, I worked summers, and I studied enough in order to graduate a little early. However, I think I may have miscalculated on this decision. You see, this was winter in Minnesota. 1993 was such a cold winter, I broke my friend's starter on his Ford because the ignition got stuck in “start” when I turned the key. It was so cold, you'd get snot running down your face from exposure if you were outside any length of time. It was so cold that other students (with cash to spare) would order pizza from Domino's instead of trudging the ¼ mile over to the cafeteria to eat for free. Well, they did that all the time, anyhow, but even I did it despite having no money, to avoid the cold.
Anyways, in college, I lived in a small town, Northfield, about 1 hour south of the Twin Cities. I lived on the campus, and I ate my meals at the cafeteria. In other words, I had no job, no furniture, no cooking skills, and no clue. All I knew was, I could not go home, because it would be impossible to live under the same roof as my parents. It was January. At the end of the month, my 3-credit class in History of Russian Literature was over, and I had enough credits to graduate. I had to make some decisions.
2. Getting my first car
So I did what any college kid in my situation would have done. I scanned the want ads for cheap used cars. I found one, in some little town midway between Northfield and Minneapolis. It was a 1981 Ford Pinto, black. The owners wanted $400. “Engine runs good”. I did not argue. I took the greyhound bus up to the closest town along the highway near the owners. The owner picked me up from the shopping mall and drove me to his house, explaining that the master cylinder needed a little work, but otherwise, the car was o.k. I didn't know what a master cylinder was. He was real nice. Asked me what I studied. What I was going to do. I don't think I knew it myself.
We got to the owner's house. It was basically a shack back in the woods somewhere. The wife came out and sized me up. I was a green college kid, ready to part with my money. I had no ride, and no way even back into town. “So ya want to buy our car?” I said, “well, I do need one”. Or something like that. “Can you give me a break on the price?” “I'm sorry, we can't. You can see how poor we are.” Their dirty looking kids were running around, as if to emphasize the point. I began to consider the situation I had put myself in. I had come to the seller's house with his ride, and had no way back to campus, unless I either bought the car, or told them no, please give me a ride back. Then the whole day and enterprise were for nothing. So, I said, to hell with it, I need a car, and besides, you gotta start somewhere. I paid the $400. On the way home, I noticed the brakes were indeed really soft. It was my first lesson in life. Never deal out of compassion.
