Adding to the recent avalanche of suck, our car started randomly overheating last week. So it was with one last longing look at our for-once-not-meager account that I sent Husband and car off to the shop.
Only to be rewarded with an outrageous repair bill.
HIM: Did you get my email? With the estimate?
ME: No, let me… Oh holy fucksticks. No. Just… no.
ME: No, No! We don’t have that—and if we did, we certainly wouldn’t spend it on this car!
HIM: So… car shopping?
HIM: I’ll come home and—
ME: Wait—do I have to go?
HIM: Um… yeah?
ME: (internal litany of fucks)
I won’t bore you with the rundown of the whole shopping process—mostly because I had a migraine on day one and was a trifle bitchy to our salesman, so I don’t come off good in that retelling, but also because it was relatively painless (except for the migraine… pleather stank was suuuuuper offensive all of a sudden) for what it was.
You know, up until we went back the next day to actually buy the car we’d chosen.
Why does that part take for-e-ver?
At one point, we got so bored we actually stood there watching a football* match on the showroom TV.
HIM: Did you see that ludicrous display last night?**
ME: … The thing about Arsenault is they always try and walk it in.
HIM: You skipped a whole line!
ME: Yeah; I can’t remember the names.
HIM: It’s, “What was Wagner thinking sending… um…”
ME: Yeah, see?
ME: Here’s one—why don’t the goalies wear the team colors? They’re working harder than anyone out there! Look at that—beautiful kick, just watch literally everyone cock it up.
ME: See? They’re the best players and I can’t tell whose side they’re on!
EVERTON PLAYER: (lazily kicks ball, keeping hands in pockets)
HIM: Well they’ve got the team names left and right on the screen…
ME: So they only shoot this thing from the one angle? What, they don’t have the technology to put cameras on both sides of the field over there?
HIM: I’m not sure…
WESTHAM PLAYER: (falls down, stays there watching match for a bit)
ME: Oh, we just fall down and lie there, is that how it works?
ME: Honestly, I can see why fights break out at these things. I’ve been watching for four minutes and I already want to punch someone
HIM: (nods, considers) … (leans away)
But the best part of buying a car (aside from once again having a car that doesn’t make that weird noise when you try to actually drive it places, or kick up a fuss when you’re not running a fan, none of which I’m convinced is worth having a car payment again) is the amount of drama you’re exposed to if you just sit quietly near the sales desks and wait for people to stop noticing you.
There’s probably plenty of material there for a Netflix series—or at least a regular print feature—if one were so inclined. I, as it turns out, am not. But if there’s a dealership receptionist reading this right now? Honey! You are in a position to gather so much material—stop wasting it!
In the short time I was able to blend in with the potted plants, I overheard:
One conversation between coworkers that proves I never want to work in this environment. To my theoretical receptionist: I’m so sorry for everything you go through—please make some money off this bullshit.
“Brenda went home from the hospital today!”
“Oh, that’s good. What did she have?”
“She still won’t say… I’ll keep asking. She has to tell eventually, right?”
A couple learning just how expensive even a very cheap used car is. When this information finally penetrated their brains, the salesman showed them a couple of vehicles (online) for which they might be able to get financing. The woman countered, “Can I see it in red?” The man wondered if they had a darker grey one instead.***
A guy came in all set to make his deal and drive off in his new car. The problem? His credit has tanked in the last few months. But how? Apparently his (ex? This bit is unclear) wife has been up to some things… and some not-truth-telling. He got alerts about this activity but after discussing it with her (Red! Flag!) they agreed it was definitely an error and there was no need to investigate further. He went into the finance office to discuss their recommendations (and, I assume, file for divorce)
A family of four adults humans came in and settled down at a sales desk, dragging extra chairs into the cubicle. They had walked the lot (in the rain! This behavior fascinates me) and chosen a car. All the deciding had been done and it was now down to paperwork. But wait! Forms are being handed over and a scuffle ensues… apparently they got all the way to “yes, let’s buy this car” without deciding who is actually buying a car today. They were still arguing about this when we left, and had torn multiple forms fighting over them.
* Yes, Internet Corrector Person, most Americans would call it soccer. But we’ve already had that discussion around here.
** 50 cool points to you if you got the reference without googling. 75 if you’ve ever wished that service really existed. If you’ve no idea what we’re talking about, please go discover The IT Crowd immediately. I’ll wait.
*** I already tried having this conversation with one friend, and it went nowhere. Someone please explain to me how the color of your car matters even a little bit? You can’t tell what color it is once you’re inside! The only time I see the outside of my car is when I’m walking back to it. And you know what I’m thinking at that moment? Not, “gosh I wish it was purple.” I’m thinking, “Oh, thank god, there’s my car.” (Bonus points if the doors are still locked, because that’s not always the case parking downtown.)