|"I'm telling you, I've got a wheel of cheese with your name on it." ..... "And I'm telling you, lady, we don't sell cars to crazy people."|
I'll get right to it. I saw a car I liked. It was beautiful and looked like it was comprised primarily of all my dreams and smooth white chocolate. I wanted to curl up in the leather captain's chairs and tell them about my hopes, whisper my aspirations to the third row seating, pat the unmarred steering wheel and ask, "Where to today, Captain, my Captain?" The price tag said I couldn't. The button that said, "We finance anyone, even squirrels," said, "Yes."
I clicked the link. "Hello, my name is Paige Kellerman. I heard you finance squirrels. I am looking to purchase a new squirrel. No, wait, I meant I'm looking to purchase a new car. I like the one I'm pointing to on my screen."
Luckily, I contacted the one dealer who took time out of his busy schedule to respond to me within the minute. I've heard it's hard to get their attention, kind of like when buzzards smell a dead carcass and ignore it for days until some other animal eats it. I'm also not very good at analogies. "Hi there! This is Justin. What vehicle are you interested in?"
"The one that will give me a sense of self-worth."
"Oh, so you're looking at the white one."
"Yes, that's the one I'm licking..liking..interested in. Hold on. I'm looking for some screen cleaner. My husband usually hides it."
"Would you like me to send you the financing work sheet, so you can see if you qualify?"
*worksheet pops into box*
"Dear Justin, it says here you need to know how much money we make a month. That seems a little forward."
"We just want to know if you can afford the payments. Nothing personal."
"It's personal when we were delicately going to broach the subject of paying with things we found at garage sales. Old VHS tapes, Matchbox cars, brown Tupperware...that kind of thing. I can also do fairly realistic renderings of landscapes, on Windows Paint."
"Mrs. Kellerman, we prefer money."
I used a Kleenex to shine the chrome rims on my screen. "Sir, you never would've survived in feudal England."
"Are you writing from England?"
"No. I'm writing from a place deep in my heart that wants to drive this car, pretend I'm young again, and drag race teenagers while simultaneously hoping they don't notice the kids in my back seat. Things we all want, sir."
In the end, we actually did qualify for financing, but they turned around and sold the car to someone who apparently offered them money. But I have a feeling Justin wasn't totally honest and didn't mention that whoever stole my dream car also slipped some Tupperware under the table to sweeten the deal. So, our search continues.
Until Next Time, Readers!