A little over a month ago, JoJo (the missus) and I decided to go from having two cars to one car.  Since I was going to start working at home, it seemed ridiculous to have two cars that we would have to pay for insurance, gas, and upkeep on.  JoJo had a 2004 Dodge Ram pickup she was driving, and I had a 2013 Ford Explorer I was driving.  Both were paid for, so we figured we’d have decent trade in values to get a fairly nice car we could afford that we could share.  Well, “share” is kind of a strong word.  Ever since JoJo moved in with me–and especially after we got married–I started to pretend that I don’t know how to drive anymore.  When it comes to going places together, she’s Hoke, I’m Miss Daisy.  In fact, while she was driving us through Fort Worth the other day, I asked if I could just let my license expire in 2019.  JoJo almost jumped the concrete dividers and plowed into southbound traffic.  I’m going to take that as a “maybe”.

I’ll keep everyone abreast of how that turns out…

Anyhoozles, we went car shopping one day a little over a month ago.  We decided that primarily, we wanted to look at Ford and Chevy models.  We were pretty sure we were going to go with a Ford (since we both liked my Explorer so much), but we figured we’d also look at Chevy models.  There were a few that we thought could be good for us since we wanted something that met our budget, could be taken on road trips, was comfortable, and had decent gas mileage.  So we drove into a local Chevy dealership, prepared to deal with one of the worst things possible–car salesmen.

Now, no offense to people that sell cars–but you folks know that you’re just not much of a joy to deal with.  You have an agenda that doesn’t always align with the buyers’ agendas.  But you insist on acting like you’re doing the buyer a favor by selling them a car–no matter how much you try to screw them over.  I mean, are you really trying to convince me that you’re “throwing in 6 months of free Sirius satellite radio”?  That’s not a choice you made on your own, Carl.  You have no control over that.

So, we pulled into the dealership, a few car models in mind.  Immediately, a salesman descended (as they do), and asked how he could help.  We explained to him that we were in the market for a new car, we wanted good gas mileage, what our budget was, what we were trading in…blah blah blah.  For the most part, the salesman was a very nice guy–but it was obvious that he was fairly new (and maybe a bit nervous).  However, he was mostly capable and was definitely nice.

Now, let me explain: JoJo doesn’t enjoy the process of car shopping or dealing with salesmen with an agenda–so she tends to do things to make the process nicer (or at least, funner) for herself.

So, our salesman–whose name I will keep to myself to protect him from being associated with JoJo and myself–listened to what we had to say.  But we’ll call him “Carl” for funsies.  So, then Carl begins to ask clarifying questions, such as which specific models, does car color matter, would we be interested in also seeing such-and-such model, blah blah blah.  I was doing my best to be patient, even as Carl tried to steer us off the course we had set before we had arrived.  As expected…JoJo decided to end the questions with creativity.

She stopped him in the middle of asking a question, crossed her arms over her chest, and said:

“Look, Carl.  Can we be honest here?”i

At this point, I was steeling myself for…well, anything.  I know what my wife is capable of at any given time.  Carl simply nodded with a smile and acknowledged that honesty was best, of course.

“Okay.” JoJo smiled sweetly. “If you can find us a car within our budget that both of our fatasses can ride in comfortably at the same time, we’re willing to look at anything.”

Carl was a trooper about it…even though we eventually bought a Ford.

Until next time…

 

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