Posted on December 6, 2010


I felt like T. and I were in agreement that we were both a little too good to be in this situation.

The hyperactive “used car sales manger” leapt about like a deranged gazelle, shouting things like, Are YOU ready to buy TODAY? and This is T’s first day! I want him to make his first sale and I want it to be YOU!

Each time he inveigled me , I replied, Yes, I like the car, and that’s a good price, but this is the first car I’ve looked at and I’m not buying the very first car I look at, no matter what.

This price expires in 30 minutes! he wailed, giving me the double-gun salute so that I understood the gravity of the situation.  And it goes UP every 30 minutes after that until we’re back at the starting price!  I will NOT give you this price tomorrow! I just smiled and repeated my line.  Being around so much metal and testosterone was sapping my strength, and Springfield, VA is the armpit of the DC metro area.  The roads there are  like an overturned bowl of spaghetti that someone stuck some street signs in, and everyone is sad.  At any rate, I was.

But even in my enervated condition, when the spastic douchebag of a manger picked up my phone, threw it at me, and said, Go ahead and call your dad or your boyfriend or whoever you need to call to get the OK and let’s get this done! I decided I’d had enough and left.  It may have been the deal of the century, but I do have some self-respect.  I know I saw it laying around here somewhere.

So, when I wended my way to Tyson’s Corner through heavy Christmas traffic and tons of construction only to realize upon arrival that those asshats in Springfield had kept my driver’s license (an old sales trick to ensure that you’ll return), I almost went home for the day…but I was just so fucking far from home, and so weary at the thought of finding my way there, that I persevered.

For nothing, as it turns out…more car shopping lies in my future, alas.  And to make it worse, while I went out searching for an affordable and reliable sedan, somewhere on Leesburg Pike I accidentally fell deeply in love with a sporty little SUV and I can’t get over it.  Something about the idea of buying a used Honda Accord, or even a VW Jetta, makes me feel like I will never have sex again.  I KNOW that is impractical.  I care so little about cars that I generally don’t even know what make and model the one I’m driving is.  But, as I said to Lieu*, I kind of want to have sex with me in a Jeep Liberty so I can only assume that men will feel the same.  On the other hand, I kind of want to ask me directions to the PTA meeting when I’m behind the wheel of a Hyundai Sonata.  Of course, there is an argument to be made that I’m kind of  going to want to tell me to  fuck off when I’m getting 20 highway miles per gallon in a Jeep instead of 32 in a Civic for 240 roundtrip miles every week between DC and Philly.  I know this, but I have somehow become emotionally (and perhaps romantically) invested in this decision.  Oops.

So the saga continues.  And yes, after nine solo hours of car shopping on Saturday, I took Lieu up on his offer to accompany me on Sunday.  I was a desperate shell of a woman, but I still should have said no.  I know this.  I should have test-driven that Camry too, I know.  But I rarely do what I should, even though (as I also said to Lieu, when my final bid on my dream Jeep was turned down) I NEVER get anything I want.  At least, sitting there next to him and getting ready to climb back into my piece-of-shit car for the journey home, that’s how it felt.

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