I Hate Car Shopping
incentive to get to heaven, because i've caught a glimpse of hell.
I'm not the most hygiene-conscious person in the world. In fact, I've
been known to go three or four days without a shower when I don't have
school or a need to impress (or not disgust) anyone I may come into
contact with. Once, a friend of mine even told me "You smell remarkably
good for having not showered in four days" after I told him how long
it'd been. My point is, that I don't mind going without a shower...
...except after spending a day talking to car salesmen. Nothing makes me want to dunk myself in a tub of boiling hot listerine to sterilize myself more than having the slime of a dozen car salesmen's handshakes clinging to my skin. I know I've said it before, but Jesus Christ I hate these guys. That is, of course, unless you, my beloved readers, who know my soul so well, are friends with or are related to a car salesman. Be that the case, when I say "car salesmen," what I really mean is "every car salesman except that saint of a car salesman you're associated with."
I recently went car shopping. It had been a few years since I'd looked at cars, and I'd forgotten how much I absolutely hate it. Perhaps there's something wrong with me. Maybe I'm not a good American. But I can't stand car shopping. I imagine that hell is basically one big car lot, and it's teeming with car salesmen who won't leave you alone.
Oh, and the car salesmen are the worst part. Now, I realize that car salesmen have to make a living too, and that it's probably just a few high-pressure relentless bastards who give all car salesmen a bad name, but apparently I've only ever had the displeasure of working with those select few who came to the car lot straight from the loins of Satan's bitch. I mean it. I've vowed to myself that if I ever have to look at cars again, it's going to be secretly, at night, when the salesmen are back in hell. Don't try telling me that I can just tell the salesmen that I'd like to look by myself. Oh no, that doesn't work. I could show up at the car lot, look the salesman straight in the eye, and say, "Whoa! Stop right there. Forgive me for not shaking your hand--I don't want you to get my scent. Now, look, if I make sure that you get the commission from any vehicle I should purchase, will you please just leave me alone? Here, go enjoy this pack of cigarettes I brought you. I feel it only fair to warn you that I have pepper spray, and I'll use it if need be. You have until the count of 10 to back away from me." It just wouldn't work. Within, I swear to you, less then five seconds of entering any car lot, a middle aged man in a shirt and tie will be heading toward me at a fast pace. My immediate response is to freeze in terror. "Oh shit. Oh God," I think, "Here comes one now." Life slows down to slow-motion as the salesman seems to look straight through my soul, throws that cheap smile at me, and nods in reply to seeming to have read my thoughts of "Is he coming after me?" In a matter of seconds, the salesman will have slithered his way over to where I'm standing, introduce himself, ask for my name when I didn't give it to him, and extend his hand for a hearty hand shake.
The thing I hate the most about them is that they're always asking me what I want. DAMN IT, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. DO YOU THINK IF I KNEW I WOULD BE LOOKING AT ALL THESE CARS??? "Yeah, I want a car that'd be well suited to running over car salesmen. It'll need good traction so it won't slip or slide on all of the slime that would spill out upon impact."
Why the hell don't they make the ability to tell the difference between helpful and unbelievably annoying a requirement for car sales? I'm absolutely serious when I say they are the most annoying people I've ever met. Think about this: Richard Simmons is the most annoying man in the exercise business, possibly existence. We all know this. You have an inexplicable inclination to dislike him the first time you see him, he creeps you out, and he never shuts the hell up. Now, imagine that everyone in the exercise business is exactly like this. No Cindy Crawford or Kathy Ireland workout videos, no Tony Little Target Training, just Richard Simmons after Richard Simmons, as far as the eye can see. Now, imagine that scenario, only instead of making you exercise they're trying to sell you cars. Granted, most car salesmen (with the exception of one I saw today) don't cop Richard Simmons's stereotypically-gay attitude, but they're just as high, if not higher, on the hate-worthy scale.
And I still don't have a car. Which means I have to face these horrid bastards again, God knows how many more times. All I can say is thank God a car salesman has never mated with a Jehova's witness and... Oh God I don't even want to think about it.
...except after spending a day talking to car salesmen. Nothing makes me want to dunk myself in a tub of boiling hot listerine to sterilize myself more than having the slime of a dozen car salesmen's handshakes clinging to my skin. I know I've said it before, but Jesus Christ I hate these guys. That is, of course, unless you, my beloved readers, who know my soul so well, are friends with or are related to a car salesman. Be that the case, when I say "car salesmen," what I really mean is "every car salesman except that saint of a car salesman you're associated with."
I recently went car shopping. It had been a few years since I'd looked at cars, and I'd forgotten how much I absolutely hate it. Perhaps there's something wrong with me. Maybe I'm not a good American. But I can't stand car shopping. I imagine that hell is basically one big car lot, and it's teeming with car salesmen who won't leave you alone.
Oh, and the car salesmen are the worst part. Now, I realize that car salesmen have to make a living too, and that it's probably just a few high-pressure relentless bastards who give all car salesmen a bad name, but apparently I've only ever had the displeasure of working with those select few who came to the car lot straight from the loins of Satan's bitch. I mean it. I've vowed to myself that if I ever have to look at cars again, it's going to be secretly, at night, when the salesmen are back in hell. Don't try telling me that I can just tell the salesmen that I'd like to look by myself. Oh no, that doesn't work. I could show up at the car lot, look the salesman straight in the eye, and say, "Whoa! Stop right there. Forgive me for not shaking your hand--I don't want you to get my scent. Now, look, if I make sure that you get the commission from any vehicle I should purchase, will you please just leave me alone? Here, go enjoy this pack of cigarettes I brought you. I feel it only fair to warn you that I have pepper spray, and I'll use it if need be. You have until the count of 10 to back away from me." It just wouldn't work. Within, I swear to you, less then five seconds of entering any car lot, a middle aged man in a shirt and tie will be heading toward me at a fast pace. My immediate response is to freeze in terror. "Oh shit. Oh God," I think, "Here comes one now." Life slows down to slow-motion as the salesman seems to look straight through my soul, throws that cheap smile at me, and nods in reply to seeming to have read my thoughts of "Is he coming after me?" In a matter of seconds, the salesman will have slithered his way over to where I'm standing, introduce himself, ask for my name when I didn't give it to him, and extend his hand for a hearty hand shake.
The thing I hate the most about them is that they're always asking me what I want. DAMN IT, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. DO YOU THINK IF I KNEW I WOULD BE LOOKING AT ALL THESE CARS??? "Yeah, I want a car that'd be well suited to running over car salesmen. It'll need good traction so it won't slip or slide on all of the slime that would spill out upon impact."
Why the hell don't they make the ability to tell the difference between helpful and unbelievably annoying a requirement for car sales? I'm absolutely serious when I say they are the most annoying people I've ever met. Think about this: Richard Simmons is the most annoying man in the exercise business, possibly existence. We all know this. You have an inexplicable inclination to dislike him the first time you see him, he creeps you out, and he never shuts the hell up. Now, imagine that everyone in the exercise business is exactly like this. No Cindy Crawford or Kathy Ireland workout videos, no Tony Little Target Training, just Richard Simmons after Richard Simmons, as far as the eye can see. Now, imagine that scenario, only instead of making you exercise they're trying to sell you cars. Granted, most car salesmen (with the exception of one I saw today) don't cop Richard Simmons's stereotypically-gay attitude, but they're just as high, if not higher, on the hate-worthy scale.
And I still don't have a car. Which means I have to face these horrid bastards again, God knows how many more times. All I can say is thank God a car salesman has never mated with a Jehova's witness and... Oh God I don't even want to think about it.