Mr.Dave
Early 2002 I was on the hunt for a new car. Of course I brought my dad along with me. After one day, I had enough... wrote a story... hilarity insues...
Car Buying Experience
Purchasing a new car can be a rewarding venture for some, or an unnecessary, painful task for others. My mom’s exact words were “I like going to the grocery and picking up something off the shelf and knowing what the price will be”. Unfortunately then, I don’t think she’d fair too well buying a new car for her first born son. My father loves it. Seeing as this could be a bonding between a man I hardly know anymore I feel the need that he should come along for moral support and guidance for an otherwise clueless boy/man (me). But I find that looking for a new car with him isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
We first arrive at the Acura dealership to check out a car I’ve been eyeing for a while; the RSX-S. I feel as if I have the upper hand in this matter, as my father has associated with the gentlemen months before. I meet the salesman who seems quite friendly towards us, and I notice something on his desk, a picture of an infant boy with the silver frame around the photograph with the word “daddy” scrawled in red letters. This brings my hopes up, I’m sure an older man might be a money grubbing, sleazy nut when it came to selling cars. Maybe this guy would be more honest and kind, and not weathered the years of emotional distress and turmoil a man with say, oh, three teenage daughters would have. I shake his hand. He then proceeds to ask a barrage of questions I can readily answer…strictly on the fact that I did some research. After the questions directed to me, dad turns the table on himself. He starts in on telling the poor guy unneeded knowledge that he (dad) was thinking about buying the CL, but went for a Nissan 350Z instead.
About this time I walk around the showroom appearing to browse though the other cars, but purposely avoiding the story I had heard about four times before. More importantly I walk away because I simply cannot stand the way he talks, and the way he needs he ego stroked. Example: “Me and my wife come in six months ago, and we was looking at this car over here…” It’s almost too embarrassing to be seen with a guy who, for some reason thinks he’s an automotive buying genius, but who has the grammatical skills and sentence structure of a fifth-grader. I would gladly buy him a remedial book for introductory English, but I think he would miss the point.
After 30 minutes and false agreement with the salesperson that my father just might be Henry-fucking-Ford, we go on a test drive. I decline the driver’s seat, fearing I just might wreak a twenty thousand-dollar piece of automotive perfection and let my dad drive. I’m quiet for the most part; I know a lot about the car from hearsay and the Internet, so I really don’t have any questions. The test drive was very pleasant, and even sitting in the passenger side I love the car. (Surprisingly my father was not too embarrassing on the drive). We pick up the brochure on the car and leave. Onto the next dealership…
While in the car on the way to check out the Eclipse dad tells me of his horror stories of buying car. Including how he loves to yell at the salespeople. Less of a person would find this intimidating, I find it rude. Many times he refers to the salespeople as “fuckin idiots”. Now, there have been many comical advances to making the f-word funny, or put in good use. When Robin Williams or Chris Rock drops the f-bomb, it’s fucking hilarious, (notice the use of my words). But when my dad says “fuck” it comes off more as an attempt of a 10-year-old to sound cool in front of girls on a playground. We arrive at the dealership.
While checking out the car, my dad again launches into the story about his new car he’s getting. He speaks of how he talks to everyone else about it, and how useful the Internet is when buying the car as if the salesperson has never heard of a Goddamn computer. Next he tells the salesperson how much better the Acura is than the Eclipse, which is most embarrassing. Dad quotes the Acura at 2,300 pounds and the Eclipse at 3,350 pounds. Both figures way off (the Acura is 2750, the Eclipse is 3,200 if anyone cares… oh you don’t? Okay, on with the story.) Armed with a shitload of irrelevant and false “facts”, dad begins to criticize the car the guy is trying to sell. I roll my eyes many times at the guy while dad is not looking to let him know that I think he’s a bumbling bastard as well. As we walk out, I shake his hand and look into his eyes with an “I’m sorry, he’s an asshole” look. His eyes say, “that’s okay, I know he is.”
On the way back my father is convinced that the salesperson was a moron, and I should not have to look for any other car. Will I look for another car? Indeed I will! Only next time, it’s going to be better. I will look smarter. I will do my homework, be knowledgeable, and courteous. Most importantly, I will shed 247 pounds of raving, ranting, bald, and most utterly idiotic weight I lovingly refer to as “dad”.
Car Buying Experience
Purchasing a new car can be a rewarding venture for some, or an unnecessary, painful task for others. My mom’s exact words were “I like going to the grocery and picking up something off the shelf and knowing what the price will be”. Unfortunately then, I don’t think she’d fair too well buying a new car for her first born son. My father loves it. Seeing as this could be a bonding between a man I hardly know anymore I feel the need that he should come along for moral support and guidance for an otherwise clueless boy/man (me). But I find that looking for a new car with him isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
We first arrive at the Acura dealership to check out a car I’ve been eyeing for a while; the RSX-S. I feel as if I have the upper hand in this matter, as my father has associated with the gentlemen months before. I meet the salesman who seems quite friendly towards us, and I notice something on his desk, a picture of an infant boy with the silver frame around the photograph with the word “daddy” scrawled in red letters. This brings my hopes up, I’m sure an older man might be a money grubbing, sleazy nut when it came to selling cars. Maybe this guy would be more honest and kind, and not weathered the years of emotional distress and turmoil a man with say, oh, three teenage daughters would have. I shake his hand. He then proceeds to ask a barrage of questions I can readily answer…strictly on the fact that I did some research. After the questions directed to me, dad turns the table on himself. He starts in on telling the poor guy unneeded knowledge that he (dad) was thinking about buying the CL, but went for a Nissan 350Z instead.
About this time I walk around the showroom appearing to browse though the other cars, but purposely avoiding the story I had heard about four times before. More importantly I walk away because I simply cannot stand the way he talks, and the way he needs he ego stroked. Example: “Me and my wife come in six months ago, and we was looking at this car over here…” It’s almost too embarrassing to be seen with a guy who, for some reason thinks he’s an automotive buying genius, but who has the grammatical skills and sentence structure of a fifth-grader. I would gladly buy him a remedial book for introductory English, but I think he would miss the point.
After 30 minutes and false agreement with the salesperson that my father just might be Henry-fucking-Ford, we go on a test drive. I decline the driver’s seat, fearing I just might wreak a twenty thousand-dollar piece of automotive perfection and let my dad drive. I’m quiet for the most part; I know a lot about the car from hearsay and the Internet, so I really don’t have any questions. The test drive was very pleasant, and even sitting in the passenger side I love the car. (Surprisingly my father was not too embarrassing on the drive). We pick up the brochure on the car and leave. Onto the next dealership…
While in the car on the way to check out the Eclipse dad tells me of his horror stories of buying car. Including how he loves to yell at the salespeople. Less of a person would find this intimidating, I find it rude. Many times he refers to the salespeople as “fuckin idiots”. Now, there have been many comical advances to making the f-word funny, or put in good use. When Robin Williams or Chris Rock drops the f-bomb, it’s fucking hilarious, (notice the use of my words). But when my dad says “fuck” it comes off more as an attempt of a 10-year-old to sound cool in front of girls on a playground. We arrive at the dealership.
While checking out the car, my dad again launches into the story about his new car he’s getting. He speaks of how he talks to everyone else about it, and how useful the Internet is when buying the car as if the salesperson has never heard of a Goddamn computer. Next he tells the salesperson how much better the Acura is than the Eclipse, which is most embarrassing. Dad quotes the Acura at 2,300 pounds and the Eclipse at 3,350 pounds. Both figures way off (the Acura is 2750, the Eclipse is 3,200 if anyone cares… oh you don’t? Okay, on with the story.) Armed with a shitload of irrelevant and false “facts”, dad begins to criticize the car the guy is trying to sell. I roll my eyes many times at the guy while dad is not looking to let him know that I think he’s a bumbling bastard as well. As we walk out, I shake his hand and look into his eyes with an “I’m sorry, he’s an asshole” look. His eyes say, “that’s okay, I know he is.”
On the way back my father is convinced that the salesperson was a moron, and I should not have to look for any other car. Will I look for another car? Indeed I will! Only next time, it’s going to be better. I will look smarter. I will do my homework, be knowledgeable, and courteous. Most importantly, I will shed 247 pounds of raving, ranting, bald, and most utterly idiotic weight I lovingly refer to as “dad”.