We're in the first throes of buying a new car, and for once I'm not looking forward to the dickering part. It's a shame, because we've had such a good time playing with car salesmen over the years. Bill usually gets to play Mr. Nice Guy and I get to be the bitch (typecasting) and we've made some fine deals. But I just don't have the stomach for it this time.
The web has spoiled me rotten. I like surfing for as long as it takes to get the features and price I want and then watching the product wend its way to us. Before Christmas we were visited by UPS, DHL, FedEx, and USPS package handlers all in the same day! After service like that, going to a car dealer seems like something out of the 19th century.
I have a couple of disturbing dreams that I torment myself with from time to time. One is that I'm secretly a couple of credits short and have to go back to high school. The horror is that I've forgotten my locker combination, can't find my gym shorts, etc. The other one is that I find myself with a lit cigarette and an ashtray full of butts - proof that for twenty years I've lied about quitting. That one makes me wake up with tears in my eyes.
But worse than either of those would be to dream I'm selling cars.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment