Age Sixteen.After months of hard work and a little luck, I happened tohave enough money to buy a used car. I thought I'd be livingthe American dream. My parents are blessedly lenient. Theydelude themselves into thinking I am a responsible young man,the poor fools. Over 55-miles-per hour, my car pulled hard tothe right, and shook like Kathryn Hepburn on Jolt. It was timefor a trip to ...

The Shop. I just needed to have afront-end alignment and my tires rotated and balanced. Ithought I'd only spend $65 or so. It was then that I learnedthe first rule of car repair: it always costs more than youexpect. I was informed that the vibration was caused by a badrear tire, and the alignment wouldn't hold until I had someadditional work done. I needed a new tie rod end and CV boots.After looking at the repair manual half a dozen times, I stilldon't know what these parts do. I paid for it though, andcould just barely afford ...

    The Cost. It was $300. I hope to climb out of that financialhole soon. Oh yes, and there's the new tire, periodic oilchanges and the annoying flashing of the air-bag warning lightthat need to be taken care of. Now, I find myself feelingguilty when I spend money on anything but my car. I thought mychariot would bring me freedom. Instead, I am bound inslavery. I own and operate my own vehicle, but the cost on mysoul is as great as the one on my wallet.