SATURNLY NOT

I didn’t plan on becoming a member of the Saturn family; I just wanted a new car. But apparently no one told the folks at the Saturn dealership that you can pick your friends but not your family.  My husband, three kids and I were welcomed into the Saturn fold with an enthusiasm usually only seen at Brady Bunch reunions.  They didn’t just sell us a car; they wanted to be an ongoing part of our lives.

All the fuss was flattering at first. We selected a basic two-door model with great gas mileage, and the Saturn people were so pleased with our budget-minded choice.  We went to pick up our car and all the salespeople gathered around my family and clapped, actually clapped, and they seemed so pleased for us.  It reminded me of a waitressing stint I once had where the employees were required to sing Happy Birthday to the guests, the main difference being, I’m sure, that no one at the dealership was simultaneously singing and worrying about food orders coagulating under heat lamps.

            As the applause died down, our enthusiastic salesperson, Connie, took a Polaroid photo of my family standing in front of our brand new vehicle. After the kids watched the Polaroid do it’s magic, (look it’s us!) I saw the dark side of belonging to Connie’s family, because she then gave my kids, without my permission, helium balloons.

Anyone with kids can tell you that although balloons seem like festive, happy things, in actuality they’re just the opposite.  They are evil.  If you give three kids three different colored helium balloons only a few possible scenarios can occur: one child will cry because they have the wrong color, a game of Keepaway will develop resulting in crying, or a balloon will deflate, pop, or blow away, most likely leading to crying. 

Connie set this sibling Armageddon in motion without a trace of remorse, in fact, as we drove off she smiled in what appeared to be a rather maniacal way.  Or perhaps not. It’s hard to say with Connie.  It was one of those relationships that took off quickly and fizzled just as fast. Although I thought we were close, the whole thing dwindled down to a phone call a week later (how’s the car working out for you?!) and a Seasons Greetings card in December (here to serve your Saturn needs!). 

            My resolution not to get sucked into the Saturn family was tested a few months later when we received an invitation to attend a Saturn outing at the zoo.  Sixteen dollars for my family of five covered parking, entrance, lunch and tickets for three different activities or rides. As an added bonus, we’d get to socialize with other Saturn owners and see Saturn’s newest models. As the Saturn godfather likes to say, they made us an offer too good to refuse.

            We were instructed to park near all the other Saturns; for photo opportunities, the invitation said.

            At the zoo picnic site we found a buffet-style lunch fit for a king: ham, hot dogs, baked beans, pasta salad, fresh fruit and potato salad. I would have thought there was something for everyone, but I would have been wrong.  I soon found out that Saturn children are despicable in their fussiness. “No Jell-o?” my Saturn nine-year-old whined.   The other two were no better, taking only miniscule dollops of the food they found least objectionable. Meanwhile my husband and I filled our plates with hearty Saturn cuisine, spurred on by the fact that it was free and required no preparation or clean up on our part.

            Nearby, a brand new Saturn was on display.  I might have thought a madcap Saturn owner just parked amongst the picnic tables except the car was roped off with a sign in front of it.  I didn’t see what the sign said, but my guess was something like, leather seats! and  just like yours, only better!

            We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around the zoo. We missed the sea lion show due to a timing glitch, which caused one of my kids to burst into tears.  Saturn children are as emotional as they are fussy.

            By day’s end we’d walked for miles, dealt with sibling altercations and rode the zoo train and carousel. Leaving was a relief.  Luckily, finding our car amongst the sea of Saturns was easy; we were the only ones who hadn’t tied a ribbon or bandana to the antenna.

 Being part of the exclusive Saturn clan is exhausting.  Hopefully we’ll get a few months to rest before the next family gathering.

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