Friday, March 14, 2014

Warmth Is Sacred To My People

I loathe car dealerships.

There's something terribly sterile about them- and not in the welcoming "Come in, hang up your hat, allow me to save your life," way characteristic of hospitals. (Yes, I do enjoy medical habitats, in general, and while I will politely nod and smile sympathetically while you describe your fears of doctor's offices and medical centers, I will not truly understand whatever it is that you're talking about- unless we're talking about anyplace inhabited by a dentist.  Dentists rank right up there with rabbits on the list of Creatures Not To Be Trusted.)  Car dealerships are all silvery surfaces and the walls are plastered with advertisements for their cars, which makes no sense whatsoever- I'm already there, okay?  You got me.  I know of no one who wanders into car dealerships, past all the actual cars to aimlessly peruse the photographs on the walls before jumping and saying, "HEY.  Maybe I should buy a car today!  I like this one, right here on the wall."  Get yourself to Hobby Lobby and buy a giant $10 post-impressionist print, Car Dealership People, and I'll be a lot less scowly in your place of business.

Even the people that work there hate it.  At least I'm guessing they do, which is a reasonable assumption, given the car salesman I saw standing just outside the building at the dealership I was at a few weeks ago, on a day that had already seen its high temperature of -2 come and go.  Nobody chooses to leave a place with temperatures sustainable to life unless it's simply unbearable.  Poor, miserable car guy.  I bet he could do with a daily dose of Almond Blossoms.

The reason I found myself at a (terrible, horrible, no good, very bad) dealership was because we were looking for a car.  To purchase.  And believe it or not, we, and by we, I of course mean Derek, had already researched a boatload of cars and didn't have to look at the gallery of photographs on the walls of the dealership to choose one.

I won't bore you with the details of all the test drives and negotiating and blah blah blah (in part because I was blessedly absent for most of it, and in part because no one should have to fear death by boredom as a result of reading this blog), but in the end we ended up buying a new (to us) car to replace Derek's old one.

It is a nice car.  I have not yet entirely decided how I feel about it.

Most of this is, I admit, fear of disloyalty to our old car.  As a result, I find myself saying things like "Oh, look at that, when you try to turn up the volume it actually works 100% of the time.  No one likes a showoff, New Car," and "Some cars don't feel the need to have fancy things like actual knobs and buttons for adjusting the heat and air conditioning, some cars are content with stabby metal parts because their plastic knobs broke and fell off long ago.  Don't get too big for your britches, New Car," and "So your windshield wipers work.  Big deal, New Car," and "I know of some cars who aren't afraid to make all manner of terrifying noises and can shimmy like a flapper in a spangled dress and make you fear for your life all at the same time- let me tell you New Car, there is almost nothing adventurous about driving you, unlike some other cars who helped me discover that I really am a strong, courageous woman every time I sat in them."

Then I discovered the glory that is heated seats and switched loyalties fast enough to make Benedict Arnold's head spin.


2 comments:

  1. I got so delightfully side-tracked in your first paragraph that I had to go back and re-read the first sentence to remember what we were talking about :-)

    Shopping for a car is the absolute worst thing to have to do. This is probably why car dealerships are so awful. You just KNOW, the whole time you're there, that the salesperson is working out exactly how many ways they can rip you off without you being aware of it.

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  2. One of the things I miss most about the Buick: heated seats. Grandma cars know where it's at.

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