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Chip Brown.

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Shark O Lot

As most of you know by now, my wife and I are expecting our first child this September. As such, I am actively trying to force my wife to trade cars. I feel we need something in a four door. My wife seems to think we need to keep her sportscar that you have to crawl out of on your hands and knees.

I'm not advocating a station wagon or Heaven forbid, a mini-van, but we have to be practical here. Kind of scary to think that for once I'm the practical one in our family. Must be the hormones or something.

Maybe my wife is smarter than me...well okay there is no maybe about it, she is. When she couldn't talk me out of trading she relented that we could go "LOOK" at new cars. Off we drove to the car lots, and I am oblivious to my wife's strategy.

Now, I should say in the beginning that I hate car salesmen. I am against no race or religion, but I draw the line on car salesmen. I hate them with a passion. If I were a super hero my arch enemy would be the car salesman.

It was a cold day and we drove onto the lot. Immediately a red Mustang caught my wife's eye. I mumbled something about Mustang as I watched the salesmen in the lobby of the building. They were just walking around in circles, like a school of sharks waiting on their next victim.

We stopped to look at this car when this sales-shark ran up to us and asked, "How can I put you in this car?"

Imagine my wife's surprise when I responded, "Hit me with a hammer and bind my arms with duct tape." My wife is so used to this she asked the salesman to ignore me, that I was off my medication.

Darn it, I hate car salesmen. I hate the way they talk, I hate the way they smell, and most of all I hate the way they write in their little notebooks. What could they be writing in there? I said hit me with a hammer and bind my arms with duct tape and he starts writing. I got the feeling, to make a sell, he would indeed oblige me, if I would wait on him to retrieve a hammer.

I began trying to get a look in his elusive book while he discussed with my wife the rock and stick shift steering and the passenger side air holes. No use though, every time I looked over his shoulder he'd move.

Finally, he asked me what option I would like to see in the car. I glanced at the sticker to see what it had. Those are the big sentences right below the teeny tiny print that is the price. Being a stickler for fine print I got out my magnifying glass and read the price. Then in reply to his question I responded, "The option I would most like to see this car have is a part time job to help pay for itself."

My wife insisted on taking the car for a drive around the block. She and the sales-shark loaded me in the back seat and we set off on our drive. The sales-shark was pleasant enough as my wife maneuvered through traffic. He made small talk by asking us about where we lived, where we went to school, how much money we had in the bank...the normal stuff.

Once we arrived safely back at the lot I confessed to the sales-shark that we couldn't afford this car even if my wife had two jobs. He assured me that we could in a way that almost made me feel that he was right. Then I came to my senses and realized this guy was not my banker and no matter what he said, my banker would agree with me.

I now realize where these cult leaders come from. Most of them without a doubt had been car salesmen at some point. This guy worked in words and numbers the way the masters of the 17th century worked in oils. I kept reciting, "I can't afford a Happy meal," in my mind to block his brainwashing techniques.

As we sat there in his little office, I began to notice the steady stream of sales-sharks walking past our door. Just like sharks, when one is feeding the others circle just in case they can get a bite of the prey.

I drank the first free Coke the sales-shark offered me without thinking. But when I finished it and he offered me a cup of coffee I began to realize his plan. He intended to ply me with beverages until I had to go to the restroom. Upon my leaving the office he would take advantage of my wife's love of this new car. By the time I would return, this sales-shark would be able to get my wife to sign over my soul.

Unfortunately, I had just had two cups of coffee and his plans for me were already working. I'm sure he had by now noticed the way I was fidgeting in my seat. I strained as I held my ground against running to the restroom. More than once I speculated on how long it would take me to run there and back. No doubt it would be enough time for this guy to take my life's savings.

I fidgeted and I squirmed, something in the way he spoke numbers seemed to make the sound of running water. I watched him figure and tell my wife that he was selling this car for less than they had in it. For a moment I felt sorry, surely this guy's boss would fire him for such practices. Then it dawned on me, he was telling lies! The fibbing had started, there was nothing left but for my wife to sign over our lives.

What could I do to stop this? Surely there must be something that would foil his evil plot. I considered grabbing my wife's arm and run screaming from the building. But I remember the trouble I got in when I tried that at Walmart. There was only one thing to do...I would have to wet myself and show this sales-shark I had no intention of going to the restroom and leaving him alone to take advantage of my wife's car buying skills.

Fortunately, before I could act I heard my wife say, "We'll take these numbers home and think about it." No longer was it necessary for me to soil myself to get out of buying this car.

As we left the building, I was sort of glad I hadn't had to act. I felt sort of sorry I hadn't trusted my wife's financial judgment. But all in all it did seem like a good plan. I may try it next week at the dentist's office.

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