Page Two of Those New Car Shopping Blues
Recalling all my prior unsuccessful forays to auto dealers, I ventured forth for a preliminary skirmish. Since all my previous lemons had rolled off Detroit assembly lines, I decided to investigate foreign automobiles. I went first to an Itsibitsi* dealer. Charlie Charm greeted me at the threshold, shaking my hand with one of his, while holding the other out for a deposit.
“We’re not getting another shipment for two months,” he said. “If you don’t put a deposit down today, the car you want could be gone tomorrow.”
Since I had yet to form an emotional attachment for — or, in fact, even meet — any of his new cars, his threat was laughable. So I laughed. Charlie was confused. I was supposed to shake and quake and reach for my checkbook. Was something funny, he asked. Yes, I giggled. His high-pressure tactics. He excused himself and made a beeline for the back office. I made a beeline for the door. He was faster than I. Before I could escape, he returned with reinforcements — his manager, Larry Laidback, Mr. Low-Key himself. At least, that was the role he was playing in this particular charade.
Larry quickly assessed me as being a member of his generation, put on his sincere expression, and remarked what a pain “these hot-shot kids” can be, dismissing Charlie with a wave of his hand. Then he chuckled and started reminiscing about the good old days when we were kids, as though he and I had played “Red Rover” with the same gang under the street lamp in the old neighborhood. He didn’t get around to the subject of cars for a good ten minutes; and at least three more minutes went by before he mentioned a deposit. He actually thought I was buying his act. This was no time for subtlety.
“Now that I’ve seen the car, I’m not interested,” I said.
“Huh?” Larry didn’t believe me. “Let me tell you what I can do for you…”
“Nothing will change my mind,” I said. “Not even if you threw in a date with Richard Gere”
He laughed heartily. “I like a woman with a good sense of humor,” he said. “I’ll just get the paperwork started while Charlie takes you for a test drive.”
I definitely was not going to waste any time on a test drive. I bolted out the door and got as far as the curb, where I tripped over a small obstacle. It was an Itsibitsi. Charlie was holding its door open. I was trapped. He insisted I get in behind the wheel. No easy feat. I felt as though I were going for a ride in Apollo Thirteen.
“Gee, there’s not much room, is there?” I observed.
“How about that stereo!” said Charlie, turning up the volume.
I told him if there was anything I hated more than high-pressure salesmanship, it was high-volume stereo. He couldn’t hear me.
“Turn left here!” he yelled.
To his dismay I turned right. The road sloped gently upward. The Itsibitsi gasped and wheezed as it struggled to keep going.
“It doesn’t have much power, does it?” I said.
“Some stereo, huh?” grinned Charlie, turning the volume louder still.
I headed back to the dealership.
“You’re really lucky,” said Charlie as I tried to squeeze out from behind the steering wheel. “This is the last one on the lot in this color.”
Even if I absolutely loved the card, the color — a bilious bright green — would have killed the deal. And I did not absolutely love the car.
Larry was lounging against the door waiting for me. “Good news!” he said. “I’ve been working the numbers, and I can let you have that beauty for a rock-bottom price. Only $28,900, plus your trade-in!”
I was speechless. “It’s okay,” he beamed. “You don’t have to thank me. Now, do you want 36-month or 48-month financing?”
“Neither,” I managed to spit out through clenched teeth.
“Smart move,” he replied. “If we spread it over 60 months, the payments will be a breeze. Now let’s see,” he said, turning his back to pick up his calculator. “That will come to…”
I made a dash for the door, ran out and jumped into my car and gunned the motor.
“Please,” I begged it. “Don’t stall now. Wait for an eighteen-wheeler.”
“Stop!” Larry called. “Let’s talk! That price is negotiable!”
I pulled away from the curb just as he reached me.
“28,500!” he yelled… “27,900…27,500…!” His voice faded away as I drove off.
I looked in my rear view mirror. Larry had stumbled and fallen into the gutter. Right where he belonged.
*See footnote on previous page.
©2009 Rose Mula for SeniorWomen.com
Editor's Note: Rose Mula's most recent book, The Beautiful People and Other Aggravations, is now available at your favorite bookstore, through Amazon.com and other online bookstores, and through Pelican Publishing (800-843-1724), as is her previous book, If These Are Laugh Lines, I'm Having Way Too Much Fun.
