Used Car Utopia...or 'No Sale'

We’ve had some real fun helping our daughter buy a ‘new’ used car recently. Not much has changed since we were 19 and buying cars, even though she had a significantly better budget than we did when we were her age.

We test drove some winners, to be sure, but one sign you may not be in the most mechanically sound dealership is when the general manager is a goat. And I don’t mean an older guy with an attitude problem and a nickname. I mean a living, breathing, two-horned farmyard animal.

We called this dealer before we visited because it was getting late in the day. We were assured he was open and that he would wait for us. We drove to Nowhere, headed for the middle and arrived to find the joint dark. A car was running outside one garage bay, and a car in the lot had its dashboard lights all aglow. The key was in the “on” position but the car wasn’t running. Of course that was the car we were coming to see. I turned the key, but nothing happened, so I turned the ignition off because in the old days, a component of the electrical system called points would have burned out, and God only knows what damage can be had today, and we were interested in this car. The key word is “were.” We wandered back toward the building but still found no sign of life.

“Honey, I’m going to be really upset if I look in one of these windows and find a severed head,” I said to my husband.

Our daughters giggled nervously.

We called the number posted on the door and were assured the owner, we’ll call him ‘Bob,’ was just around the corner and would be right back. He arrived about five minutes later and told us he raises dogs and one was giving birth, so he ran home to watch.

Bob opened the shop so we could use the restrooms.

“This is my general manager,” Bob said.

I’ll call him ‘Havoc.’ Havoc is a goat. Havoc runs the office. The girls were delighted. I checked the ingredients list on my decongestants. Did I mention he lives in the office?

Car-Buying Daughter went with Dad to test-drive the car. Goat-Feeding Daughter got chilly, and we went out into the night to stay warm in the car. Bob went back out into the night to do whatever it was he was doing before he was called home for The Big Event.

I settled in to write one of my articles. About 10 minutes later I noticed a woman in my rearview mirror.

“I didn’t notice Bob had a woman helping him move these cars around,” I said.
“He didn’t,” youngest replied.

We turned around and watched the figure come closer to the car. It was Car-Buying Daughter.
“What the…?????”

She sauntered up to my window.

“What happened?”

“C-c-c-c-car broke down,” she said, teeth chattering.

“What happened?”

“The c-c-c-c-car broke down.”

“I mean, what was it doing when it broke down?”

“Well, we were d-d-d-d-driving along, and Dad said, ‘Uh-oh,’ and everything went black,” she explained.

Four people in the family. Four cell phones in the family. She walked back in complete darkness. What’s wrong with this math?

“Did you tell Bob?” I asked as Bob was speeding toward where Daughter had come from.

We sit. We wait. In the dark in Middle, Nowhere, we saw some movement on the road. The men were pushing the vehicle back toward the dealership. I guess the truck was too high to push the sporty little devil. Hubby wandered up to my window, almost doubled over laughing.

“Tell Bob I’ll drive him back to his truck,” I offered.

He did, and Bob did, so I did.

“We’re all family now,” Bob said, jumping into the car.

No, Bob; we're not.

I drove back the way the rest had gone and approach the four-way flashers blinking in the distance. The truck was facing the wrong direction in the right-hand lane.

“Thanks,” Bob said, heading for the truck.

I turned around and pulled out onto the road, almost side-by-side with Bob. I waited for him to pull the truck across the road into the correct lane, and he started to move, but paused, so I thought he was being a gentleman and letting me go first. So I hit the gas and went back to pick up my husband. We waited a few minutes to tell Bob ‘thanks-but-no-thanks,’ but no Bob.

I get out of the car and face the direction from whence I’d come. Those truck lights were still a long way off. I thought maybe Bob had run into a neighbor and had to tell them about the puppies.

Then I saw something moving slowly toward the dealership. It was Bob driving the shoe-leather express.

“It’s the darnedest thing,” Bob said, his face very red.

The truck just sort of stopped working while it sat there waiting for Bob’s return. Must be a woman. Unfortunately for Bob, all we spent on the venture was some time and gas money. I don’t know about Bob, but that really would have gotten my goat.

Reprinted courtesy Eagle Newspapers, Syracuse, New York.