The Dealership

Do you suppose that the general manager at The Dealership would be a lot nicer if I wanted to buy a brand-spanking-NEW car? Do you think he'd be nicer if I didn't schedule an inspection for the not-so-spanking-new-car? How about if I didn't try and talk him down a thousand because the head gasket was leaking fluids? What if I was wearing something a little low cut and didn't have my hair in sweaty-gym-pigtails? Or black ink under my fingernails? And a Frida ring on my middle finger?

Dear Dealer Guy,

Don't wear your pleated khakis so tight. Your face looks like red blotchy indigestion. And you should probably try not to wear that high school hockey = golden days look on your face all the time. It is embarassing. Also, don't come right out and imply that people who race around in their Subaru wagons are dorks. There are lots of us, and we don't need to go muddin' on the way to work, but we might see some cool free stuff in someone's garbage on the side of the road. Oh, and please don't make it so obvious that you're not taking down my number when I tell you to call me when you can come down a thousand. I know you're pissed, but your job is to make that feeling shiny and cold and have a new car smell. Oh, and if you don't mind, you should try and NOT seem like the exact kind of guy that would measure my ass and assess my worth if I'd dare turn around in front of you. While these few tips won't help you make my sale, I they might help you be more successful in the future. Not that I care. I know this sounds really bitter and all, it's not really that I am, but I'm kind of out of things to write about on my blog, and I really kind of think this might make for a good story. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Cheap Skate/Probably a Lesbian Anyway