Just now I looked out our porch window and it sunk in: Marlene is gone for good. I said goodbye my 1994 Mercedes-Benz E320 a few hours ago in the parking lot of a nearby shopping center. A truck driver with a Miami area code and Russian name came with a 7-car hauler to transport Marlene to her new owner in Austin, TX.
I owned Marlene since December 12, 2017 and we went through some changes together. Back then, I was still gainfully employed as a talk show host on a SiriusXM. Roger the orange tabby and Violet the gray tabby were still alive. Sweet T. was a good five years from retirement. And I was saying goodbye to Marlene’s predecessor, Lily Von Schtupp, a W123 1983 Mercedes-Benz 300D Turbo Diesel. Lily and I were together a dozen or more years but she was succumbing to rust and when the E320 fell in my lap (a friend’s grandmother died and he had no use for the car) I snapped it up for $1,500. Lily and Marlene coexisted on our block for a month or more until Lily sold on EBay to a Navy vet in Maryland. Lily made it to 250K miles and may still be running for all I know.
When I bought Marlene she had roughly 47K miles on her and had seen little use since her original owner, my friend’s grandfather, died. The grandmother put E320 in the garage and kept her around for visiting out-of-town friends to use. Within days of buying Marlene my mechanic suggested I bring her by so he could check the wiring harness. Back then Mercedes used wire with a biodegradable jacket, which broke down over the years and led to arcing. My first repair bill for Marlene exceeded what I paid for her but I didn’t mind. I didn’t have a car payment and owned a reliable, comfortable, safe and fast (the speedometer went up to 160 mph) ride.
Black with a tan interior, Marlene was aimed at the Executive (hence the “E”) class and in the middle of Mercedes sedan line-up for 1994. Two airbags (the passenger side required deleting the glove compartment), anti-theft alarm, a sunroof, power windows, cruise control, Becker cassette/AM & FM stereo and four-wheel disc brakes were standard. Upgrades included a leather interior and heated seats (I still remember my dead-of-winter thrill at discovering them). An utterly analog ride, Marlene was considered a “Bulletproof Benz,” a car that could easily make it to a quarter-million miles with regular maintenance.
And I maintained Marlene well.
My mechanic, Lee, also worked on Lily and specializes in German vehicles (though he’s reluctant to get involved with VWs). He thought I did well with Marlene and – as sad as I was to sell Lily, preferring her styling – I had to admit Marlene was a superior ride. Mercedes addressed the weak spots of the W123 – underpowered, poor drainage (leading to the aforementioned rust), mediocre climate control – and I quickly realized I wasn’t missing Lily. Marlene and I drove to hell and back and I especially put her to the test with all those trips up-and-down the New York Thruway when I had my antiques store That Cave in Saugerties, NY. I abused poor Marlene by stuffing her trunk, back seat and passenger seat with store stock and supplies, treating her like a goddamn Ford Ranger. She never complained, just got me there and back swiftly and intact.
Marlene was one of those cars random strangers in gas stations would compliment, saying “Nice ride.” Friends taking her for a spin would praise her solidness, sureness. I might’ve kept driving her but in the last few years she was in Lee’s shop more and more. I had her transmission rebuilt and head gasket replaced at a combined cost of nearly $5K. Other repair bills piled up. Every time I filled the 14 gallon (with 2 gallon reserve) tank with Premium (Mercedes-Benz insisted on 93 octane) it’d cost me at least $50. I got it in my head that what I needed was an electric car and solar panels on our roof so I could “drive for free” (after spending thousands of dollars, of course). There were other reasons to go electric: to get off fossil fuels, to reduce maintenance costs, to qualify for the IRS Clean Vehicle Credit before it expires. To prepare, I spent a day summing up what Marlene cost me to own, astounded to find I’d shelled out nearly $21K in repairs, maintenance and parts $11K in fuel (at 19 mpg) since December 2017. That’s nearly $400 a month, AKA a new car payment. I also subscribed to the InsideEVs newsletter and narrowed my search to two finalists: the Hyundai Ioniq 5 and the MINI Cooper SE. Buying pre-owned would save me a bunch of money and I’d still get the Used EV Credit ($4K) if the car met certain criteria (at least two years old, I’d need to be the 2nd owner, etc.). Back in May I stopped by the MINI dealer in South Brunswick, NJ and drove a 2023 MINI Cooper SE (blue with black top and black stripes on the bonnet) and fell in love. It reminded me of the MINI I took for a test drive in 2001 when BMW reintroduced them. I was living in Hoboken and the terrible parking situation had me thinking I need the shortest car I can buy. I didn't pull the trigger, knowing I couldn’t quite swing the payments.
Still tossed up between the Ioniq 5 and MINI, I checked out pictures of the Hyundai’s interior online. Like too many EVs, it's more computer-on-wheels than car, with two large touchscreens for most functions and lacking the buttons and switches I prefer for non-fiddly driving. Admittedly, the Ioniq 5 gets the nod when it comes to range – roughly 260 miles per charge compared to the MINI’s paltry 110. But the heart wants what it wants and I'd prefer to buck the ever-larger SUV trend. Back on June 10 I found a red-with-white top MINI Cooper SE with 17K miles on it traded in to Patriot Chevrolet in Warminster, PA . I had some money from an annuity that matured and – while the bulk of it went into my IRA – I put some aside to buy the newest car I’ve ever owned.
The buying experience basically sucked. Brian, my salesperson, said he was new but didn’t mention he was a bit of a dolt, giving me the wrong all-in price for the certified check I had my bank cut, leaving Patriot owing me roughly $3K, which they tried to claw back in the form of various upsells (maybe Brian isn’t such a dolt...). Because I’m from New Jersey, because the MINI was a trade, because it’s electric, because I wouldn’t be returning to Warminster for service – your choice – Patriot could give a shit after I forked over the check (look for my one-star review online wherever you get your reviews). Alpha Electrical installed a Level 2 charger in our garage (PSE&G, our utility, will give us a credit equal to the install cost). The MINI – which I dubbed “Agent Cooper” in honor of David Lynch, unable to think of famous female Coopers (though “Ruby 2” was momentarily in the running, inspired by Sweet T.’s red 2013 Prius C, Ruby) – gets topped off at home via the MINI app on my phone, which will also “climatize” the interior so it’s never hot or cold when you climb in. That’s not the only trick up Agent Cooper’s sleeve. There’s so much technology packed into its tiny frame that I’ve barely learned all of it. In my spare moments I peruse the Owner’s Manual app in almost-constant awe of some feature or another (and, yes, Agent Cooper has heated seats AND a heated steering wheel).
Last time I charged Agent Cooper out in the wild an unattended Hyundai Ioniq 5 was at the other charger and it looked massive alongside the MINI. For a moment I envied its four doors and loads of cargo space. But when I got home and measured our garage I realized it would be an incredibly tight fit. It’s already terrifying backing Agent Cooper into our antique garage: I can’t imagine dealing with something wider, longer and taller. Sweet T. owns the 2016 Prius bequeathed to her by her late father and that thing gets 55 mpg. Any long trips we take, we’ll use Frank’s car. The MINI is perfect for running around here and Sweet T. will learn to love regenerative braking as much as I do, so we can swap rides when necessary.
The last few days have been tough, having sold Marlene on Cars & Bids (like Bring-A-Trailer for less exotic vehicles) for more than I'd hoped for (minus the roughly $650 in detailing and pictures). Dealing with the dickhead transportation broker, whose accent was so thick I got every fifth word, and whose driver failed to showed up after I hung around the shopping center parking lot for an hour last night, was bullshit. Today, the same ridiculous Russian asked me to “Do me a favor...” and meet his driver in Secaucus at Harmon Meadow Plaza. I refused.
“Wait, you want me to do YOU a favor after I waited around for an hour last night and no one showed? That’s not happening.”
He called back an hour later to ask if I would "Do the driver a favor...” (not him) by meeting him on JFK Boulevard. I had to explain that A) there are two JFK Boulevards near me (the closest is called Boulevard East) and B) JFK Boulevard is MILES long. In his utterly broken English he just kept reiterating “It’s JFK Boulevard...” as if that narrowed it down. Jesus Christ on a crutch. I again told him I wasn’t doing that, that his driver could meet me at the shopping center five minutes from my house, and I again hung up on him. Meanwhile, I texted Marlene’s new owner, a young Indian-American, We’re expecting heavy rain and thunderstorms with the possibility of flash-flooding here. He was incredibly apologetic but kept saying he didn’t want to “anger” the trucking company, that he was worried they’d tell him they wouldn’t retrieve the car. When we finally got on the phone I heard myself saying, “You don’t know this but I talked with truck drivers for twelve years on satellite radio and if this company drops you you’ll find another one in minutes.”
A half-hour later the Ridiculous Russian texted, after calling repeatedly (the phone was charging), frantic that I needed to meet the driver, who “Will be there in 10 minutes.” I texted back, said “He can contact me when he’s in the parking lot.” The next message said “HE BE FIVE MINUTES!” and I didn’t respond. I grabbed my raincoat, my Stop & Shop bag with magnetic tool dish and screwdriver (for the license plates and license plate screws) and went out the door. Marlene’s passenger seat overflowed with the spare Michelin snow tire (I threw in so many extras with the car, including a set of 5 snow tires on rims, it makes me a bit queasy) and putting the gearshift into DRIVE was a bit wonky. I switched on her lights, turned left on Highwood and at the light saw the 7-car auto hauler coming up Boulevard East to turn left onto the other Highwood (Street, Ave, who knows?). The light turned green and I fell in behind the hauler, who turned right onto Park Avenue and then, incredibly, drove past the first shopping center entrance. I cursed to myself, wondering What the fuck is this guy DOING?! and made my way to a parking space near the rear of the lot. While shooting a “final ride” video my phone rang. It was the driver, asking me to meet him on Park Avenue.
“No, I’m not doing that. Come into the parking lot.”
“How am I supposed to do that? There’s no room to turn around.”
“There’s plenty of room. There’s a loading dock back here.”
“But I see box trucks...”
“There are fifty-three foot trailers back here all the time. There’s one here now.”
In Marlene’s rear view mirror I saw the car hauler turn right into the second entrance, the much more narrow one with constant pedestrian traffic.
“This fucking guy...”
I watched as the driver pulled into the wide, expansive rear of the lot, then turned around and FUCKING DOUBLE-PARKED DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE SUPERMARKET. He ignored my frantic motioning to the back of the lot, where the school buses park. When he climbed out of his truck and made his way over to me the rain had begun falling and while I got to work removing the front plate I asked “Why didn’t you just park back here?”
“How am I supposed to turn around?”
“Huh? There’s plenty of room to turn around.” (He had done just that.)
Thunder clapped and I went around the back of Marlene to remove the rear plate, held on by just two screws (for expediency, I’d removed the lower two last night). The first screw on the upper left came out easy but the upper right screw fought me.
“Sonofabitch. This car does not want to release me!”
I kept at it, the bit of the screwdriver skipping out of the screw head repeatedly until I thought I might have to bend the plate off. Just as I was about to ask the driver if he had a philips head on his truck I managed to get the recalcitrant screw backed out. I stuck the back plate in my Stop & Shop bag, then grabbed my scraper and removed the parking sticker on the left rear passenger window. The driver ran around Marlene taking copious pictures with his phone, documenting its current state so he wouldn’t be accused of causing damage upon arrival in Austin. I looked at my phone and the Ridiculous Russian had called several more times, along with the new owner’s mom (?). I texted the new owner, saying “The car’s being loaded up now.” Then I shot eight minutes of video under an overhang, out of the rain, documenting the last I’d see of Marlene – being backed slowly onto the car hauler, bound for Texas.
I couldn’t bear to watch the hauler drive off, so I went into the supermarket and bought some Tate’s Chocolate Chip cookies. Then I walked home in the rain, hearing Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds Carny in my head all the way through the door. My friend Bob suggested I toast Marlene (having sold two old Porsches, he was the right person to talk me off several ledges, along with my friend Jim, who's also bought and sold old cars). Going for the vintage rocks glasses in our little dry sink bar, I managed to break two of our remaining three. After I swept up all the glass, I put a large ice cube in the lone survivor, grabbed The MacAllan, poured three fingers, held the glass aloft and toasted my old ride.
“Danke schön and auf wiedersehen, Marlene!”