The long good-bye: Owning and selling a Celsior

I think it’s fair to say that everyone has random thoughts on random things, but I get a soap box to share these thoughts and it’s called DODOlogic. So for better or worse, here’s another post based on my life.

Yesterday I said goodbye to my 1993 Toyota Celsior, passing the keys to its new owner in exchange for a wad of cash. This was a long time coming, as the car had been for sale for several months. Over these months, I had some time to think about a few things and this is what I’ve learned:

1. Selling a car is maybe the worst experience in the world, but also slightly entertaining if you can see past the frustration. Everyone has awful tales from kijiji or craigslist that make you question humanity. Note to all you would-be buyers out there: before you write your message, maybe spend some time thinking whether your proposed offer makes sense or is even based in reason. Most sellers don’t want to trade perfectly decent cars for your project vehicles or used Legos. Also, it’s weird when someone offers to trade cars and then asks you to shell out more money on top of the trade. I’ll admit it; I brought much of this on myself as I could have said “no trades,” but like a bad car accident I couldn’t look away.

2. The second thing I learned for myself is that I will never do air ride again. This is completely opinion-based and I encourage others to keep doing it because it’s fun to look at. Yes, it’s cool to make your car go up and down and yes, your car friends will get a kick out of it… but that’s a large sum of money that I’ll never see again. I get that all the money you sink into your car is pretty much a loss, but this was straight-up the equivalent of me putting my money on the front lawn and setting it on fire. The only difference is that would have at least kept me warm at night. On second thought, maybe I would do air ride again — but only if I bought the car with it already installed. That way, some other schnook could absorb the cost.

3. Selling a Celsior for decent price is difficult, but maybe that’s just a Saskatchewan thing. Big automatic sedans don’t seem to possess mass appeal in the land of the living skies. That being said, I am glad that the car did go to someone who will appreciate it.

4. The fourth thing I learned is I have no business being around the VIP scene. I mean, I love it and if anything my experience makes me respect these guys even more. Allow me to explain: the VIP crowd has an amazing eye for detail and loads of commitment. What lots of people don’t understand is just how expensive the VIP scene is and how much time those guys spend on their car. Their execution is usually pretty flawless and mind-blowing, but I don’t have the eye for detail required to be like those VIP cars that I admire so much.

5. I found out that I may be a grown up, but not grown up enough to be okay with having my primary car be an automatic.

6. I learned I actually really like Toyotas, which is weird because I always thought I was a Nissan guy. There’s something I find so appealing about Toyota sedans.

7. Finally, the last two years I spent with the car was a great experience — even though it cost me a few thousand dollars. It was a great road trip car and made me appreciate luxury. I even dug having a Celsior with a cloth interior because you don’t see that too often. I’ll especially miss the AME AX’s; I’m not sure why, but I really liked those wheels.

In closing, I bid the Celsior a fond farewell with a quote from Neil Young: “Long may you run.” I hope this indestructible beast of a car serves its new owner well.