My Struggle with the Minivan Hierarchy

I always hated minivans. They were ugly, very uncool, and every Mormon family in Idaho owned one. Mormons are sweet people, mostly, but none of them are cool, no matter how hard they try to be during their teenage years they seriously fall short of this characteristic. When they become adults and get married, they begin having kids as soon as they can consummate and along comes the minivan purchase.

I swore I would never drive one of these uncool, family mobiles, but my Ford Taurus seemed to be shrinking over time. I realized that I would need something larger one fateful day at Target when I purchased one of those enormous Rubbermaid tubs to store Rachael’s outgrown baby clothes in. I spent 15 minutes in the parking lot re-arranging the car trying to fit the blue container in somehow. Nearly resigning myself to thinking that I would have to return it, I finally came up with a configuration that would accommodate Rachael, my mother-in-law, myself, a couple of boxes of crap from the trunk, and the Rubbermaid tub. The ride home was uncomfortable, not only for the fact that we were stuck in the car like sardines, but because I came to realization that I needed a bigger vehicle.

At heart, I am a minimalist. I don’t like to hang onto things. Four years ago, I moved back to Seattle with one large suitcase and a carry-on and didn’t retrieve the rest of my things for nearly a year. I’m not a packrat, and I pride myself on traveling light. After relaying my Rubbermaid tub experience to my husband, he decided that we should begin looking at Volvo station wagons. Not very cool, but at least it wasn’t a minivan.

We continued to face the problem of borrowing vehicles from our friends when we made a large purchase, and during Memorial Day Weekend it happened. My in-laws were up along with Jeff’s Auntie Tama and Uncle Jerry. They would spend Memorial Day Weekend with us then the four of them would travel through Canada and come back two weeks later for Jeff’s graduation. For the roadtrip, they rented a minivan; a Ford Freestar. On a Sunday, we all loaded into the minivan for a trip down to Pike Place Market for their annual street fair. It was a pleasant drive as we all traveled comfortably in the accommodating caravan. Rachael had her grandma on one side and great auntie on the other while Jeff and I kicked back in the captain’s chairs. Uncle Jerry drove and Jeff’s stepdad, Herb, co-piloted. It was a relaxing, trouble-free adventure. Jeff and I were in bed that night when he asked me what I thought of the vehicle. I sat up in bed and made the cathartic statement: “Fuck, I want a minivan!”

I kicked myself for days afterward. I was completely selling out to the man. Jeff was delighted, because we could get a decent used minivan a lot cheaper than a used Volvo. (Since I’m married to a man, who is like myself, a cheap-assed Jew, we never buy new cars due to the automatic depreciation).

As we embarked on our search for a minivan we discovered a hierarchical structure that had engrained itself in American culture unrecognizable to those who drove anything besides the family wagon of the new millennium. At the top of the scale, like a shining trophy sits the Honda Odyssey. Boasting its superior quality and reliability, this beacon of vehicular engineering has everything a family could need such as sensors on the doors to keep little fingers from getting smushed and an in-car entertainment system that was better than the one at my house. It also had stow ‘n’ go seats that collapsed into secret compartments below the floor of the car…friggin’ storable seats! It was also hella expensive. A new one costs just as much as a cool car, and unfortunately there’s no “sorry your youth’s gone” mercy discount.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is the Kia Sedona. Jeff made me test drive one of these beauties as a base of comparison for all of the other test-drives to follow. I think he was secretly hoping that I would love it, so that he would only have to spend a small amount to satisfy my minivan obsession. Remember, the cheap-assed Jew thing. Moving on. The Kia is clunky and doesn’t feel right. I can’t quite describe it, but despite the salesguy boasting the 5-star safety rating, I felt like I was driving an embellished roller skate. I knew that if this thing was in an accident, the drunk in the other car was going to win the battle of the head-on collision. Despite the final high-pressure sale, we passed on the Sedona. One person told me that this was the best minivan for families who wanted a minivan, but couldn’t afford any other brand. My word of advice to those families is to pass on the new Kia in favor of something used with independent suspension.

In the following week, I would test drive the Mazda MPV and the Toyota Sienna. Both are excellent middle of the road vans. If you own one of these, along with most of the “Made in the USA” brands, you are living well. If you pilot a Kia, you are low income, and if you drive an Odyssey then you are probably the spoiled wife of a man who has sweet-assed stock options from Microsoft, Boeing or one of the other big corporations around the Puget Sound, especially if he owns something like a SUV, Lexus or Mercedes. In our neighborhood, most people own the Sienna with a few Odysseys and a peppering of other brands like Mazda, Nissan and the guy near the end of the block who has a Town & Country.

It is mid-July and we have yet to purchase our minivan. I am more aware of the advertisements since I know that I will be at the helm of my own family wagon soon enough. Last night there was a flashy ad on television boasting of a shiny new van with individual sunroofs over each seat, and seats that were removable, collapsible and could possibly have an “eject” button that shoots you into the air through one of those sunroofs if hit by another car. You know how those ads are. The kicker of this ad was the way they showed the very attractive, brunette (because blondes are for fun, not for moms) storing a surfboard and a mountain bike while proclaiming that moms have changed.

I know they were trying to play down the dork factor of driving a minivan, but the fact is that minivans are not cool. Teenage and twenty-something guys are not buying minivans to pick up chicks. Women without kids are not buying minivans to go on roadtrips with their friends. Point blank, nearly no one who doesn’t have kids or grandkids owns a minivan. This endearing fact is the same with the minivan hierarchy. Rich folks don’t buy Sedonas.

I will probably end up with a Mazda or a Toyota as long as my husband can get a good price on a used one. He asked me what color I wanted the other night, and I told him I would like a champagne color…on a hot, little, two-seater like the new Thunderbird. He asked me to be serious, and I told him that I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about color, because I didn’t want to own one in the first place. I will drive the damn minivan out of necessity and look forward to the day when I don’t have to deal with car seats and can trade my Mormon mobile for something cool. Until then, every time I pull out the remote entry keychain I’ll roll my eyes a little knowing that I’ve officially sold out to the man and joined millions of Americans in the minivan hierarchy.