LYD Classic. Original publish date: October 2000 (23) under IIStix as Here In My Cars.
Editor’s Note 2026: Twenty-six years later, the friends who wanted to put a spoiler on my car now post about their kids' soccer schedules, Saturn no longer exists, and some of the racial terminology has held up about as well as the Jetta’s electrical system. The masturbation jokes, on the other hand, remain mechanically sound.
I have a group of friends like cars. Really, like cars. They could talk about shocks, engines, and spoilers all day long. How they would soup up their cars from an otherwise sensible family sedan to something three steps below the Batmobile, with little “Powered by Honda” decals all over. I think a couple of them, late at night when no one is around, close their bedroom doors and masturbate to Gran Turismo instead of porn.
And then they would turn to me. “Hey Ernie, we should put a spoiler on your Saturn.”
And then they’d laugh. A lot. And then they’d go back to masturbating over their video games, while I talk shit about them to their girlfriends. Quite entertaining, really.
So yeah, I have a Saturn. A 2000 Saturn SL1. A 23 year-old Asian guy with a sensible family sedan that looks like a sensible family sedan, if it weren’t for the cigarette smoke stained in the plush bucket seats and the techno music playing in the CD player.
While I shouldn’t be complaining because I’ve been fortunate enough to have an automobile since high school, I’ve always had bad luck getting those suckers running properly. My first car was a 1986 Mercury Topaz. I called it “The Rhino” because it was ugly, gray, and took an unspeakable amount of damage the first couple years of riding it. Transmission problems, engine problems (What... you mean a car needs motor oil?), issues with the clutch, and of course, the Rhino’s infamous trademark... brakes that don’t work. We’re talking shift to first gear, and then pump the brakes rapidly with one hand on the handbrake, just in case. What? Spend money on the car? Why do that when I could spend it on something like, say food?
The Rhino passed away four years ago. God bless its ugly soul. In its place, came a 1986 VW Jetta. By now, I had learned my lessons. Always change the oil, make sure the car’s brakes thoroughly work, and try not to slam into a station wagon full of Latinos on the way to your first day of a summer internship, looking for a map. I learned my lesson, right?
No, not really. I guess older Jetta’s have this problem with the electrical system. It’s a minor problem, really. Every once in a while, older Jettas won’t, you know, start. Doesn’t happen every time you start the engine mind you, just on important days like the morning of an kick ass final, or when you’re at a gas station somewhere between Bakersfield and bumblefuck nowhere. Without Triple-A.
“What the...? This car was running fine just 30 seconds ago! I just had to fill up on gas! What the hell is wrong with you stupid car?!”
No lights come on, no sound, nothing. Like I was driving a two-ton paperweight.
“Fuck you,” says the 1986 VW Jetta.
“Oh please, just let the engine turn over. I’m sorry for everything bad I ever did to you.”
“Fuck you.”
So obviously, when the situation arose, it was time to buy a new car. But how did this unspeakable travesty known as “buying a Saturn” occur? My first vehicle of choice was a 2000 VW Jetta. “Jettas aren’t too bad,” I thought. They aren’t Japanese cars, so I’m not just another Asian driving around the city, and well, at least they aren’t Fords.
By the way, did I tell you that Ford was a sponsor of the Asian conference I went to? Does anyone else see the irony of that? I’m sorry, I digress.
So I was all set on getting a shiny new Jetta, until the dealer told me my credit wasn’t good enough to apply for the car loan.
Me: “Dad, I’m getting a new car, I just need a co-signer for a car loan.”
Dad: “What kind of car are you getting?”
Me: “A 2000 VW Jetta.”
Dad: “Ai-ya! A Jetta is too expensive. Go for something more practical, like a Saturn.”
Me: “Dad, a Saturn is seven or eight thousand dollars cheaper than the Jetta that I’m looking at. Do you mean more practical or cheaper?”
Dad: “Whatever. In any case, I can probably bargain with the Saturn Dealer to get it a couple thousand dollars cheaper. I can probably get you some free floor mats!”
Later, at the Saturn Dealership...
Dad: “AI-YA! WHAT YOU MEAN YOU DON’T BARGAIN!?”
Me: “Dad, Saturn has a no haggling policy.”
Dad: “Hmmpf. Just give us free floor mats, and we take.”
And that’s the story of how I am only one of three Asian-Americans in the world that drive a Saturn. My friend suggested to get a decal created that says the word Saturn in kanji and to paste it on the back of my window. That would be great. Then I can take my white friends to get bubble tea and watch in horror as my car gets egged.