10/06/2024
It was a five-speed1985 Plymouth Turismo 2.2, shiny and black with fastback louvers. It was hot looking. I didn’t care what kind of engine as long as it ran, the question running through my head was, can I make the payments for this car?
My 1976 Chrysler Cordoba limped onto the used car lot, barely running. I was a female in my mid-twenties, bringing a male friend with me in the hopes I wouldn’t get ripped off too badly. I saw this black car on the lot; it looked like it was going a hundred, standing still. We went over to look at it. My heart sank; it was a five-speed, and I had never driven one. I turned to my friend, “Can I drive this?” He had more confidence than me, “Sure, I’ll teach you.”
We were purposely stopped in the middle of hills to see how I handled a five-speed. Did I stall and roll like a marble on a slant? My friend is a saint or has nerves of steel; it took many tries to get my feet coordinated enough to move the car.
Negotiating with a car salesman was something I had no experience in. This was the big grown-up stuff. My friend was not helping me, whatever was said, he would shrug. Decisions and negotiations were all mine. It must have been easier to get a loan in the mid-1980s because I left with the car before securing the loan. We were free to drive over forty miles to my grandmother’s. Would she co-sign the papers?
I drove my Turismo for five years; I used the hand brake on the hills, and my foot coordination was always a problem. My first experience on slush put me in a ditch. I didn’t realize downshifting was like hitting the brakes. I made all the payments; some months were tougher than others, but I have fond memories of my ’85 Turismo 2.2.