Tttuuurrbbooo!! That’s right, turbo. Try it. You can say it.

In fact, when you get in a car with a turbo-charged engine, you simply want to shout it out.

Well, I thought I was going to be screaming turbo at the top of my lungs, filling in the word turbo to songs on the radio and doing little turbo dances from my turbo-charged car into my apartment.

But I thought wrong.

It turns out the turbo-charged car I wanted to buy for really cheap had some serious problems that it simply wouldn’t be practical to fix and wouldn’t fit in the budget.

You know your dream car wouldn’t be a good choice when the mechanic takes 15 minutes to look at it, and says something like, “Do you own this car?”

“No.”

“Are you looking to buy?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t.”

So I’m stuck with my bike, my own two feet and any poor souls I manage to convince to give me a ride.

But graduation is only a semester away, and unfortunately, owning a car is a necessity for getting a job.

I am frequently asked about how reliable my transportation would be during job interviews.

In the newspaper business, being mobile is crucial to staying on top of the news. A reporter has to be able to race to the scene of an accident, bank robbery or any other event.

And as much as I would love to be able to take the subway to where I’m going, it’s just not practical.

This is largely because there is a sincere need for better modes of public transportation.

Hopefully, with all this hype about El Nino and the ozone being destroyed, options will be explored as they should be.

The subways and train stations of Europe could be a reality in America.

I only wish it would occur in my lifetime.

Maybe there is a future in reporters on bikes, just like bike cops.

Reporters could strap a scanner to their arm, shove their notepad in the back of their lycra shorts, or in a pocket of their jersey shirts.

Away they would go, weaving through traffic, cutting off cars, barely missing pedestrians with the snot they just blew out of their nose and jumping curbs to arrive at their destinations in a sweaty, unprofessional state.

As far as the reputation of newspaper reporters’ fashion is concerned, it might actually be a step up, but somehow I just don’t see it becoming a reality in the near future.

So I’m just going to have to face the music, bite the bullet and swallow the pill of bearing down and buying the best thing that I can find and afford, regardless of whether or not it has a turbo-charged engine.

For the mean time, I can at least daydream about what it would be like to feel the anger for a parking “Nazi.”

Or I could sit in a nice cushy chair, depress my foot into the middle of nothingness and pretend like I’m driving a fast car with a turbo-charged engine.

But what exactly is that worth?

Maybe some brief moments of pleasure.

I suppose while I’m waiting for “the one” to come along in a newspaper ad or driving around to parking lots to see the blaze orange “for sale” signs in windshields, I should be satisfied that I am not burdened by a car.

I don’t have to buy gas, pay insurance or repair endless bolts after endless spark plugs after endless motor mounts.

Ahh, in reality, I’m free from the responsibility that comes with a car. And that liberation feels sweet.

So maybe I’ll be the one to pioneer cycling journalists.

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Kathleen Carlson is a senior in journalism and mass communication and international studies from Cedar Rapids.