No Salesmen Were Hurt In the Making of This Blog Post

We're car shopping. If I suddenly disappear without a trace there are several theories you can explore.

1. I may have exploded from stress and frustration.
2. I may have killed someone and am rotting in a jail.
3. I may be in a corner, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, crying softly to myself.

I hate car shopping. We've been so extremely blessed in our vehicle choices that this happens very infrequently for us. And we're good with that. If a vehicle runs, we're happy. The end. Our current van has 179,000 miles on it, and while the laundry list of things that are wrong with it is long, it runs. (Who, really, needs to put down the passenger side window from the driver's side?) Unfortunately, we know that with that many miles under her wide belt, she won't last much longer. And there are a few large, glaring things wrong with her that need fixed and we're at the point that we'd rather sink the money into a replacement than a fix. So here we are, at the point where I turn into a mess of murderous stress.

We set a budget and headed out into the world with a fistful of cash. The first dealership worked with us to an extent, but didn't grasp the concept of "this is the max that we'll pay" and called to hassle us for days afterward, asking if we found more money yet. Actually that question came the minute I walked in the door from test driving their van, and I answered, "No, not on the drive home." (Yes, I really did. The inner evil comes out in me when car salesmen are involved.) That salesman was now on my Bad Side.

We moved on to another van, and another, and yet another. A motorcycle was involved at one point. (Yes, for real.) And when we came around to the exact same model van we found at that first dealership, I struck on a grand plan. Mind you, Sam and I have been van shopping sans kids because we're not stupid. But we figured that we'd take the kids to the first dealership, allow the kids to completely test that van inside and out while pushing buttons, opening and closing doors, and kicking tires, then say loudly, "Kids, this is exactly like the van we're getting down the road. Now that you know all about it, let's go get ours!"

Hi, I'm Karen. I can be queen of passive aggressive when you purposely irk me while I'm stressed. Car salesmen, beware.



Trisha said...

Hee hee hee! Love the passive agressive plan! Car salesmen sometimes need a good, swift kick. Especially when they start talking to women (like you and me) as if we don't have a brain cell in our heads!

Flea said...

Bwahahahaha! I Hate car shopping. Did that two years ago when the 13 year old van cost more to fix than to replace. I hope it goes well with you and you find something that works for all of you!