The Love of My Life and the two furry loves of my life went to the beach this weekend. (Do I have to clarify that I mean Sammy and Thora? Because I know how your minds might think that two furry loves of my life are, well, something else.) In case you missed it, this weekend was the undoing of the semi-annual season change. Winter. Summer. Winter. Summer. In the fall you may notice it as the ass-fucking weekend where you’re frolicking alone enjoying 70 degree temperatures, when BAM, all the leaves are on the ground and are subsequently covered by 4 feet of snow. This weekend was the fortunate reversal where we go from 30 degrees to July practically overnight. Joy.
X, the dogs and I piled into Speedracer. We have been looking at getting an SUV as a third car between both of us. We need something bigger than the two-seater Speedracer, and Mr. X’s vehicle doesn’t fit the kids and the dogs. (I told you Mr. X has kids, didn’t I? No? Oh. Well he does. Two. And one of them told me Friday that I was soooo cool. I’ve waited 36 years to hear those words. Soooo cool. Don’t you forget it! ) Anyway, while we’re in the car, this conversation took place at exactly 5th and Florida, still in Northwest.
X: So Mike from the car dealer at the beach called me. He said they got a new truck in this week off a lease and it’s gray.
V: OMG! How much is it?
X: I don’t know.
V: What color is the interior?
X: I don’t know.
V: How many miles are on it?
X: I don’t know.
V: Didn’t you talk to him?
V, officially becoming my mother: And so did you find out anything besides there’s a car and it’s gray?
V: (inaudible grumbles)
Occasionally I would pipe up with another question, realizing, I would be better off shutting up and waiting until we got there, since Captain Detail had found out exactly nothing about the truck. I did make sure to open the windows in Speedracer enough times to get dog heads and dog slobber at our ears as they tried to get their little muzzles out the window, just so Mr. X would realize what we’re destined to deal with if we don’t buy a school bus a bigger car.
We arrive at the dealer and I just want to inform you that spending 4 hours inside a car dealer on the first Saturday of the year when it hits 80 degrees is not the ideal place to be. It was worse for Sammy and Thora who were inside Speedracer in the parking lot. And wait, it was worse for Speeedracer, whose engine I left running and A/C on full blast so the dogs wouldn’t die. And wait, it was worse for my wallet as I burned through most of the gas in my tank. Finally I asked if I could bring the dogs inside. Permission granted. I should have asked hours earlier.
Then begin the negotiations. The truck price was $22,800. I have been doing research and that was a very on target price for what we wanted. But Mr. X decided, based on no relevant information, that he wanted to pay $18,000. So we go back and forth and then Mike has to go talk to his manager. A minute passes. Then two minutes. Mr. X says, “No takes only 2 seconds.” I was convinced they were going to eject us from the deal KITT style.
They return with all the paperwork showing all the money they spent on the car. Detailing. Oil changes. Service. Car Fax. Blah. Blah. Blah. Then the manager comes over and explains why the price is already low and they can’t do it at $18 because they would lose money but maybe just maybe we could meet in the middle somewhere? So we say okay, they say okay, everyone says okay and we discuss something around $20.5. Then the manager gets up to go back to his desk and turns around and says, “We’ll just do it at an even $20.” Um. What? Then they run our credit.
Mike: The manager said you two have such good credit you can buy three cars if you want.
X: Oh no! We only need one.
Mike: Hold tight for Elvis.
Did he say Elvis?
Oh. Yes. He. Did.
Out walks an Elvis impersonator who is perhaps the funniest highlight of the entire weekend. He is honest, funny and straightforward. I like him. He reminds me of my dad and most of the old people back home who like to “tell stories.” Well, except he has more sideburn and more pompadour.
Elvis is entertaining us with stories about how he tried to buy a house in the same subdivision where we live and how there were all these problems (no, really? Is it related to the message boards and the people on there?) Then he’s printing some papers and he says, “Let me grab those off the printer out in the hall.”
He gets up to leave to go to the printer and as he’s out in the hall, beyond earshot for the answer and beyond sight for our reaction, he says,
“So when are you two getting married? I’ll sing at your wedding.”