Birmingham, England.

2001.

I've always had an eye for a bargain.

I pride myself on deep, prolonged research before making a major purchase because…

1.   I like the investigative process, and

2.   The payoff feels so good.

Whether it’s:

A Spanish holiday…

A home theater system…

A vintage car…

I'd look for the perfect balance of performance, price, and desirability.

“Bullitt” starring Steve McQueen is one of my favorite movies and is the reason I drive a Mustang today.

At the time, new Mustangs weren't even available outside of the U.S.

A vintage import was the only viable option, though examples that hadn't been ravaged by Irish weather were rare and beyond my budget.

A 1967 GT350 in Highland Green was the ultimate dream...

The iconic movie star model...

With astronomical prices to match.

So I run my bargain filter and ask:

What's the next best thing down the ladder that would give me just as much pleasure?

Turns out Toyota was also a fan of the Bullitt-era Mustang.

After months of research, I find a clean 1977 Toyota Celica 2000 Liftback in metallic green.

Toyota did an astonishing job of paying tribute to/ripping off the original, and I had to have it.

I found one across the Irish Sea in Birmingham, England, and flew over to decide if I was going to buy it and proudly drive it home on the ferry.

Even though I knew I would close the deal, given the months of research and the travel expense, I was still determined to bargain up to $500 off the $2500 asking price.

That was a lot of money for me back in 2001.

The owner, Tim, picks me up from the airport in the sparkling Celica.

Car and owner are very alike.

Both late '70s models.

Both lovingly cared for their whole lives.

Both have a faded brilliance on the outside, with a little rust underneath.

I won't venture to visualize Tim's insides, but the Celica has a cracked but original cream leather interior, a wood veneer dash, and a throaty two-liter under the hood.

Soon I’m sitting across from Tim and his wife Helen in their cozy but fraying terraced house.

It’s clear from how close they sit that they care for each other the same way Tim had cared for his Celica for over two decades.

“Our son, he's a lovely lad, but he's not doing so well. He got married to a...” Tim trails off, his face flushed from holding in his anger and pain.  

He glances at Helen.

She shakes her head “no”, then smiles at me.

Tim takes a breath and considers his words.

Politeness is a very British thing.

“Our son's marriage didn't quite work. Now Jo... his wife... his ex-wife... well, she's demanding everything in the divorce,” he says to the eager Irish stranger across from him. “We're selling the Celica to pay his lawyer's fees.”

I study Tim's face.

Bright eyes, half-covered with sagging lids.

Warm smile, corners dragged down by tired cheeks.

“He's always been a good boy who sometimes makes poor choices,” says Helen.

Her kind, blue eyes mist over as she stares lovingly at the gold-framed photo of her son on the wall.

She reaches for Tim's weathered hand.

They interlock wrinkled fingers and hold each other tight.

“So, will you buy it from us?” says Tim.

It was more of a plea than a question.

“I'll give it a good home,” I smile, and hand over the check I had already filled out for the full $2500.

Their entangled bodies sag with relief and their eyes brighten.

As Tim shows me out, Helen clasps my hand in both of hers.

“Drive safe, love,” she smiles, and I promise I will.  

Outside, Tim runs his hand over the car he’s loved for 25 years one last time.

“Send a photo every once in a while? If you get a chance?” he asks.

“I’ll be happy to show you its new home,” I reply, and he clunks the car door closed for me.

I drive away and watch Tim & Helen wave in the rearview and for a moment, feel the sting of the money I didn’t bargain for.

A full week’s wages.

But I couldn't bargain with them.

It wouldn't have felt right.

They'd bargained with life enough.

They deserve a good deal.

I left them with some extra cash, but more than that, I left them with the dignity of not having to bargain to help their son.

They had set their price, and I had respected it.

The drive through the Welsh countryside to catch the ferry back home was one of the most satisfying drives of my life.

Lighter of pocket…

Fuller of heart.