Blinded by Headlights, Saved by a Ball Cap: A Used-Car Story

Be It Ever So Humble... My New Ride

For the last several years, I’ve been getting burned out on nighttime driving—and by “burned out,” I mean literally blinded. I’m tired of piloting a low-profile sedan through a world dominated by SUVs and trucks armed with retina-searing headlights. Somewhere between my squinting eyes and my muttered commentary about modern lighting standards, I decided this was the week to bite the bullet.It was time to look for something taller than my trusty 2012 Malibu.

My needs were simple—almost boring, really. I wanted something reliable, with just enough elevation to save my eyesight but low enough that my mother-in-law could get in without a running start. A small-to-medium SUV would do nicely. Heated seats were non-negotiable. And I wasn’t about to drop forty grand just to impress friends or neighbors. I’ve never owned a new car and don’t plan to start now. Anything that loses 20% of its value the moment you drive it off the lot strikes me as the automotive definition of insanity.

So off I went car shopping.

Actually, I went to my desk—because that’s how it’s done now.

Virtual car shopping is today’s reality, and you’d better have fast fingers. Anything remotely worthwhile gets snapped up in a heartbeat. Facebook Marketplace? A swamp of dealers posing as private sellers, scammers, and listings that disappear faster than free donuts in a break room. Actual private sellers? Practically extinct. It feels like dealers are using AI—or dark magic—to vacuum up every decent car before real humans even see them.

I miss the old way: walking up to a car with a “For Sale” sign, chatting with the owner, reading the body language, and slowly triangulating the lowest price they’d actually accept. That art form appears to be endangered or extinct.

The online results were bleak. Finding a decent used SUV at a reasonable price felt like unicorn hunting. Plenty of SUV’s with high mileage and high prices. Very little in the $15–17K range I was targeting.

Here’s where modern tech actually helped. I leaned on ChatGPT to research common maintenance issues by model and year (highly recommended), identify which dealers had decent reputations, and even sharpen my negotiation strategy. With my digital wingman, I didn’t feel quite so much like a lamb headed for slaughter. Information really is power.

Yesterday, I put on my business face, grabbed my USAF Veteran ball cap, and headed into the used-car jungle with a short list of candidates. First stop: a good-looking Kia Sportage at a decent price. I arrived just in time to have some young sales guy tell me that someone else drove it off for a test drive—ten minutes ahead of me. I knew immediately that ship had sailed.  

Two more dealerships. Two more whiffs.

The sun was dropping. My mood followed it down. I was ready to call it quits when a last-minute idea popped into my head: Why not just try the Kia dealership and see what happens?

With the last bit of daylight fading, I pulled into the lot, stepped out into a wind that instantly transported me back to Chicago style winters, and was greeted by a salesman about my age. I didn’t waste time. Thirty seconds, tops. Here’s what I need. Here’s what I won’t do. He didn’t look optimistic—but pointed to a Sportage way in the back. Almost dark. Just over 100K miles. Decent shape.

Then he said the magic words.

“We just took in a Chevy Equinox on trade this afternoon. Long-time customer. Full maintenance records. That’s the one you need to see.”

Hmm. Why not?

He wasn’t kidding. It was clean. Solid. We took it for a drive—at night, of course—and it handled beautifully. Back inside, we hadn’t even talked price yet when his manager walked in, noticed my ball cap, and launched into stories about his two sons—one an Air Force colonel, the other a Marine.

Suddenly, it wasn’t a negotiation. It was three old guys swapping war stories.

That conversation earned me a nice discount before we even discussed numbers—comfortably within Kelley Blue Book. I asked them to throw in new brakes and a new battery for good measure, and they agreed. We sealed the deal yesterday morning and I'll pick it up next week.

In the end, there was nothing digital about it. No algorithms. No online wizardry. Just a few old guys doing what old guys do best: telling stories, building trust, and mixing in a little business.

Sometimes it’s good to be old—and leave the online stuff to the kids.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. If you value humor mixed with serious reflections about life on this blue marble we all share, please pass this along.

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Happy New Year — and thanks for reading.

September 9th, 1980

    As I look back on my life and career, there several things I look back on and feel like they were really important. September 9th, 1980, was a red letter day for me.  Any success I achieved over the last 45 years can be traced directly back to that day. It began with high winds and torrential rains from Tropical Storm Danielle over Lackland Air Force Base, where I had just completed Officer Training School (OTS) for the United States Air Force.  In the 90 days since my arrival, I had been transformed from a long-haired civilian into an extremely young and inexperienced military officer - otherwise known as a 2nd Lieutenant, a "butter bars" or, if you come from OTS, a "90-Day Wonder". 

    The parade that had been scheduled to mark the commissioning of Officer Training School Class 80-15 was officially cancelled, so we received our commissions and 2nd Lt. insignia in the nondescript barracks classrooms and were told that we should expedite our travel plans as the weather was getting worse. There would be no fancy parade, speeches or throwing our caps into the air for us; just some quick handshakes, a few hugs, and a Captain pinning on my brand new butter bars.  Then, we all packed and left for our technical training assignments.  For me, that meant Aircraft Maintenance Officers Course at Chanute, AFB in Rantoul, Illinois.

    I was OK with the ceremony being cancelled, as I’ve never been much for ceremonial pomp and circumstance. Marching and drill practice weren't my best skills either. My parents had offered to come down to see the parade and commissioning, but I told them it would be ridiculously hot, and they wouldn’t really see much from the reviewing stands. Lucky for them, they didn’t drive the almost 1,200 miles just to get washed out by a tropical storm. 

    My stint as a military officer didn’t result from a long held dream or even any great streak of patriotism. In the bleak job market of 1979 - the year I graduated from Western Illinois University - it looked like the best of several less than impressive opportunities. I could have managed a sporting goods department for K-Mart or a bowling alley somewhere in Iowa. But the call of fighter jets sounded more enticing than either of those options, or even the union carpenter job that I held in college (one, among many jobs along my path). 

    I had no idea how those years would shape my career as I started. My flightline years gave me leadership responsibilities that most people don’t see until at least 20 years into a civilian career. I took MBA classes from Golden Gate University at night in trailer classrooms. Uncle Sam paid for them, and I got the degree. I got to be a part of transitioning the 58th Tactical Training Wing from F-4C fighter jets to the brand new F-16’s, working with logistics experts from Wright Patterson Air Force Base and engineers and support personnel from General Dynamics. It was the most amazing engineering training curriculum you could imagine. Best of all, I got to work with, under and for, many outstanding leaders, who taught me what real leadership and integrity are. That included both non-commissioned and commissioned officers as well as civilians.

    When I separated from the Air Force in 1984 (a horrible decision on my part), I left as an experienced military officer, which is the best calling card in the world when looking for a job. I remember one interview where a top VP looked at me sternly and told me that the job I was interviewing for would have a lot of stress. He asked me very directly how I handled stress. I smiled and told him that I was trained to make hard decisions when bullets were flying and people were dying. Then I asked him what kind of stress they had. He told me that was the best answer he’d ever heard. I got the job.

    Every job I’ve held over the last 45 years can be traced back to a rainy day on September 9th, 1980. I am a ridiculously lucky and immensely fortunate guy to have been blessed with that incredible experience. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. To be honest, I wish that they took old bald guys. I’d go back again in a heartbeat.

    I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. Please share this post with others who value both humor and serious stuff about this blue marble that we all share.

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