If you’re like me, you probably have a bad habit of not taking the time to run a VIN check on those used cars you buy. And even if you do run a Carfax, well, those don’t exactly tell you everything. Chairman Kaga found out about his car’s history the hard way.
In early 2002 I totalled my ‘94 Integra GSR.
Because I was a 25-year-old male, my insurance company dropped me after writing my check. They gave me a measly $4,000 for my car. I decided to just buy something outright with my payoff and settle for liability coverage.
Why not a Prelude? I drove two. One was a 1990 Si with a 5-speed manual, the other was an ‘89 Si with a 4-speed auto. The first belonged to some shitkicker rednecks down the street from my mom’s house, black with tan leather interior, broken windshield and was $3,500. The other was being sold by my trusted Honda mechanic, was white with black cloth interior, and was ready to roll for $3,000.
I bought the white one from my beloved mechanic and decided I’d pocket the spare $1,000 for upgrades.
Within a month the AC had failed. Then the radiator began leaking. Profusely. A few weeks later it dropped a cylinder. I took it back to the mechanic and demanded either a refund or free repairs. He agreed to the latter if I supplied the parts. Unfortunately the entire AC system was shot (compressor and evaporator) and the engine was done.
I bought a radiator from Summit, ordered a used b20a engine from Japan and decided to hell with AC. While the car was in the shop he let me borrow a Lincoln Towncar. I drove that beast for almost two months while we waited for the engine to be drop-shipped to the shop and then swapped. I almost didn’t give it back. Blue velour interior, bench seat, chrome bezels everywhere. Glorious. I got the Prelude back a few days after returning from a work trip to Japan in the fall of ‘02. Ultimately I paid $1,400 out of pocket to to get the car running, and it was still a piece of shit.
The kicker is one day I was getting some cash from an ATM and a car pulled up beside me. A woman asked if I’d bought the car from (name redacted - my mechanic). I said yes. She informed me that it was actually her son’s car, and that he was died in it when he got drunk on a camping trip and rolled it down a boat ramp into the lake.