So I've crossed over to the darkside..... Which, as you all incorrectly guessed, did not require a psychiatric evaluation.... But does include a membership to the local Swagger Wagon Club. That's right. It's mini-van city at Momma's house. It was a a complete cross over, I might add.
Buying a car always incorporates more hemming and hawing than writing a birth plan, and it typically all requires a patient and persistent partner to get you desired results.... Otherwise you could end up walking out the door with a sub-standard product ..... We're still talking about cars here, people. However, out of the two afore mentioned virtues, patience is always the first to go. Especially when dealing with bigoted car salesmen. Now, I expect a certain amount of aloofness from car salesmen, but there have been a time a two where that aloofness crosses the line from idiosyncratic to just plain rudeness. And here are the brass tacks : some of them just don't like women. I'm sure they have their good reasons but if they want to sell me a car, they're gonna have to suppress their desire to send their ex-wives, girlfriends, baby mommas, or whatever to Siberia. At one dealership I was even told that I couldn't decide how I felt about a car based on my "feelings." Um. Yeah. Pretty sure I can decide whether I like a car or not based on the outcome of a Red Socks game if I want. Guess someone's "feelings" decided that they didn't like HIM to much. Can we say, "Projection, anyone?"
Case in point: As we enter the lot, "Rob" is super friendly to my husband, but refuses to even look at me, remember my name...even for the sole purpose of later asking me to lick his boot so he can kick me while I'm doing that. Yeah, that's apathy right there. This is all despite the fact that we are looking for a van. Clearly, DH was not the target to shoot at, but there you have it. Bad move #2: Being visibly shaken when forced to acknowledge me (Darn, whatserface....shoulda gotten that name... it's boot licking time) since DH disappeared with wriggling monkeys to the play area while I test drive. "Where is your HUSBAND, madam????" Sheer panic.
Apparently he couldn't see the kids either - or he would have noticed that they had been trying to climb onto every car in the lot while loudly proclaiming that they had missed their respective naps. Yeah, hard to miss. It takes quite a bit of practice and purposeful skill-honing to miss that kind of interruption. Kids in a car lot. Could be the next title to 2013's new happening comedy about car shopping. Ok ok so it needs some tweaking. But to this guy, it was a comedy about nothing. Yup. We were Seinfeld.
But I digress.
After mopping up the puddle that was "Rob," I managed to convince him that I did in fact have a driver's licence and that the State of Texas had deemed me qualified to drive, even if women didn't drive where he came from. He must have thought he had a prayer of making a sale after almost weeping with relief when I answered his question, that yes, in fact, my HUSBAND would drive the car.... IF I LIKED IT. After an excruciatingly awkward test drive - during which I tried to make small talk about the car and he kept pointing at the sales sticker to indicate that I read the stats.... while driving.... (Hey! He must have been pretty impressed with my driving since he expected me to read about the van, drive and also lick his boot) - I managed to swallow the bad taste in my mouth and leave with some semblance of pride. At this point, it was difficult to tell if it was the van that I hated or just the salesman. Before I could give "Rob" another telepathic command to burst into flames, Tyler whisked me out of there, sweetly oblivious to the chauvinistic poster child that we had just left behind. Needless to say, we didn't buy a van from him. Or even that type of van.
We ended up with a brand - used - Dark Cherry Swagger Wagon. Now, this thing is about as loaded as a spoiled girl deserves (is that the right word???) to get. It talks. It opens doors. It plays movies. It changes it's own tires. So you can imagine my surprise when it didn't have Auto Headlights. Every single car I've ever owned since I was sixteen has had auto headlights! Every single car that's new enough to have SEATBELTS has Auto Headlights.
Well played, Japan, well played.
But trust me, if the smallest thing I have to complain about is that I have to remember when it's getting dark - i.e. notice that I can no longer see the road - then my life is pretty good. At least I don't have to come home to "Rob" every night.
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