Buying a New Set of Wheels Without Doing a Spin-Out : It all started with a loud thud coming from somewhere inside the car. It ends at the dealership with a wave to salesmen named Bill and Pete.

You hear a half-shriek, half-groan as you shift your car into reverse. You try to ignore it--maybe it came from a neighbor’s vehicle, maybe it was a beached whale.

What you find more difficult to ignore is the loud thud coming from somewhere inside your 4-year-old, 118,000-mile Hyundai, as you stop at the first traffic light. The gears seem to be slipping. True, you don’t know a manifold from a billfold, but you suspect something’s up with the transmission.

You know you should have the car looked at immediately. It’s just that you are a strict practitioner of what-you-don’t-know-can’t-hurt-you car maintenance. If no one says your car needs $1,000 of repair work, it doesn’t need $1,000 of repair work. It’s that simple.

But the zoo animal under your hood would have you believe otherwise.

So you bring the beloved Hyundai, with it’s one year of payments remaining, to a mechanic who says he’ll take a quick look at it for you. It’s quick, all right. It doesn’t take long for a guy to shake his head. For once you were correct with an auto diagnosis. Your constant fear of the worst has finally proved accurate.

“The transmission fluid’s bubbling,” the mechanic says. “Look.”

You look. You don’t see bubbling. You don’t exactly see fluid. You don’t even see the transmission--well, maybe you do, you’re not really sure. You nod your head in agreement. “Yep,” you say, “it’s sure bubbling.”

The mechanic says you’ll either need to repair the transmission or replace it. And the best way to do either is through the dealer. It may cost more, he says, but it’s worth it.

You call the dealer. They say they’ll fix it for $700 or replace it for $1,200 to $1,500. You emit a sound like the one the car is making. You decide to have the car checked out by a transmission specialist in Ventura. He gives you similar estimates.

The next few days are filled with a series of calls to other auto experts to find out if the car is worth pouring money into. The term “throw-away car” is used often. You don’t take that as a good sign.

After much deliberation, and determining that the car will cost more to maintain than it’s worth, you go looking for new transportation. Not that you can afford it, not by a long shot. But hey, you’ve got plastic up the exhaust pipe.

First you need to do your homework--find out what people recommend. A friend has recently bought a Geo Prizm. Your mother has recently bought a Geo Prizm. You’ll check it out. Another friends suggest a Saturn. You go the nearest bookstore to sneak a free peek at the Consumer Reports car guide.

Consumer Reports loves the Prizm. It loves the Saturn. It loves a few other small cars that are way out of your price range. Of course your true price range tops out at about 27 dollars and 42 cents.

The big day finally arrives. Test-drive day. You pull into the local Geo dealership. They see you coming. Maybe they just hear your transmission--either way, they’re drooling. You get out, and within seconds a salesman is shaking your hand like a long-lost buddy.

It’s Pete. Pete will be your friend for the better part of the next hour--and into the coming weekend. You drive him around the block. As you approach the final leg of your ride, he makes you an offer. After all, if you bought the car now, he says, you would be the dealership’s first sale of the day and would get a special discount.

Thanks, but no thanks. You love the car, but have to test-drive one or two others. You tell him you’ll be back.

You proceed to a Toyota dealership. You mention to the sales guy there that you’re interested in trading in your car. He glances at it and says, “Nobody’ll give you anything for that.” You say thank you and fly off to Saturn--the dealership.

Saturn has made a name for itself with a no-haggle, consumer-friendly operation. That sounds good. You test-drive two cars with a very gracious, soft-sell dealer who tells you his life story. In fact, you like the guy so much his soft-sell approach has turned into hard guilt.

The next day, a Thursday, you receive a letter in the mail from your pal Pete. He wants to thank you for driving his car.

After weighing your options you decide to go back to Saturn and Geo on Friday, to see what they can offer you. While you’re shaving that morning Pete calls to say hi. He wants to let you know that he’ll be at the showroom until 6 p.m. You say thanks, consider asking him to lunch or something, and tell him you’ll probably see him later.

As you thought, Saturn is too expensive, and they estimate they’ll only give you $1,000 for your old car. That would leave you with about $1,200 to pay. Can’t be done.

Back to Geo. It’s 5:30, and Pete has gone home for the evening. But salesman Bill, a friendly former police officer, will show you the car. You want it. It’s too late to buy the Prizm, so you ask if Bill will be in Saturday or Sunday. He’ll be in Sunday, he says, and so will Pete. Now you know you’re in trouble.

On Sunday you pull into the dealership. There’s Pete. There’s Bill. They both wave to you. You feel like a two-timer. You think about going over to Pete. You consider Bill. Pete. Bill. You pick Bill, the former police officer. Pete isn’t pleased. His body language says it all. He discusses matters with Bill. They decide to split the deal, assuming they make one.

They do make one--one you’ll be paying off until midway through 1999. At least you won’t have to take it into the 21st Century.