@#*!% Car Dealers

So this post has been a long time coming.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned having purchased a shiny new automobile. For The Wifey, we have acquired one of these:



We don't have any pictures of ours yet, but they're coming.

We love this thing. It's a 2009 Dodge Journey. It's what's known as a 'crossover vehicle' - i.e. part SUV, part minivan - and it's the first 100% new car we've ever bought. Everything else has been a program or a demo or just flat used.

We looked at a few different cars before getting this one. Wifey wanted to drive a Jeep Wrangler Unlimited (4-door Wrangler), a Jeep Liberty, and a Journey. I wanted to look at a Toyota FJ Cruiser as well (can you say "Daddy's Next Truck?").

The FJ Cruiser is made of win and painted with awesome, but was set aside. The Wrangler Unlimited is worthless unless you get a 4x4 and actually use it. The Liberty was very cool. The one we wanted to drive had a fully retractable roof - think 1/2 convertible and 1/2 sunroof - but the damn thing sat too long on the lot and we couldn't get it started. It was then that it happened: another sales guy brought around a Journey to take us back to the building. That turned into a test drive.

The Journey is absolutely a pleasure to drive. It is large enough for our needs, is very comfortable, and has plenty of power as long as you get an SXT or an RT (both feature a big V6, where the base model is a four-banger). We found our next car.

So to home and teh internets we went. We looked at every Dodge dealer in South Texas (literally), and checked every SXT we saw. Finally, we agreed on a black one with just the right features, including a bitchin touchpanel radio headunit that doubles as a monitor for a backup camera.

So, off to the dealer we went. It's about a 45-minute one-way drive to the dealer, but it didn't take long once we got there, however, to realize that the car we were test-driving was the car that we were going to bring home (eventually...).

The deal wasn't too tough. Once we got down to being ready to walk out if they didn't come down to at least near the payment we wanted, they finally wised up and signed on. We also told them that our tax return was due to arrive any day now, but we wouldn't have the down payment until the tax return showed up. They said to leave a check that they'd hold and call them when we got our money.

However.

We were told by our (douchebag) salesman that since we were buying on President's Day that the make-ready department was closed, so we'd have to bring it back later where they would give the car a full clay treatment and really detail it. Fair enough. I drive out there one sunny Saturday morning with a check for the down payment, and I get told that the car would have to be detailed during the week since make-ready was closed on Saturdays (WTF??). I smelled something fishy, but I left.

Then I took a Friday off early to go get the car detailed. I asked how long, and Douchebag Salesman said 30-45 minutes - not enough time to detail a car in my experience, but okay - so I asked for a demo or something so I could get out of there and get lunch. They declined my request for a dealer demo since they don't offer demos anymore, so we had a seat in the waiting room where they at least had the decency to run Fox News instead of CNN. In about 45 minutes, my car was "ready."

Out the door we went to see our Journey which, at a glance, glistened flawlessly in the February sun. I gave it a quick once-over and assumed all was well, and we got in the car. As I put the car in reverse, The Wifey asks a question that would pull the wool back away from my eyes: "Did they clay the car?" I stopped the car and said, "Well I don't know!" I kinda wanted to just leave, but she suggested that I check the car more closely. So I did. And when I did I discovered what resembled little leftover pieces of Scotch tape thoroughly baked on to the surface of the car in several places, mostly on the hood and roof. There was also some sort of junk built up in the crevice between the back hatch and the roof.

Suffice to say that the car was not, in fact, detailed. Further inspection revealed that the interior had also received next to no attention, having only the floorboards vacuumed, and my daughter's footprints still on the back of the driver's seat. There were still leaves in the area behind the back seats.

So back into the dealer I went to find Douchbag Salesman, who gave me a puzzled look when I asked him what exactly the make-ready guys do to a car when they work on it. It is at this point that the true colors are revealed. He says they just kinda give it a quick cleaning and stuff. "That's not detailing. Did they clay the car?" I asked. "Well, they don't do that to every car," he replied. Getting frustrated, I said, "You told me they would clay mine. Did they?" In true sales-guy fashion, he diverts with, "Let's take a look at the car."

So out to the Journey we go, and I show him what's wrong with it. Looking at the Big Giant Fail that he got stuck with by his make-ready guys, he sinks a little and tells me they are going to have to clay the car.

No shit, Sherlock. Only one problem. It's damn-near closing time. I ask how long THAT is going to take, and the response is a couple hours and that I'd have to bring it back tomorrow, but that he'd have a rental or something for me.

Wait.

It's Friday, remember? Didn't he say earlier that they don't detail cars on Saturdays? Maybe he's pulling strings since they screwed up. Fair enough, there's an outlet mall north of town that I like to buy jeans/pants at, so I take him up on the offer and leave him with one suggestion: do NOT put me in some tiny little econobox for a rental. It had better be at least close to what I bought.


TO BE CONTINUED...



tweaker

No, Ma'am, You May Not

I do not like Wal-Mart. I don't go there unless I have no other option.

However, when you are in the Middle of Nowhere, sometimes you find yourself in the unique position of considering just such options. Like, needing a corkscrew when you have wine and no wine key.

So into the abyss I went, with my two fellow adventurers, off for supplies. I, for limes to complement my cervezas, and my fellows for a corkscrew. My fellows were in front, and I slightly behind carrying my laptop bag containing my laptop and its accouterments that I refused to leave in the van. The greeter, a middle-aged woman, smiled and greeted the others, and gave pause at me (still smiling) and asked me if she could hold my backpack. "I'd rather not, ma'am." One of my buddies said, "Maybe you could check it in at Customer Service?" I looked at him, and looked back at her in time for her to say, "We really don't allow backpacks in the store." I said, "There's a $2500 laptop in this bag. If you can put it under lock and key, and guaruntee its safety until I return for it, then you can have it."

The smile left her face, and she said, "Go ahead, sir."

*******************

Yes, I may have seemed harsh, but here's the deal. I have a pretty powerful laptop entrusted to me by my employer. Anything that happens to it while it's in my care is my responsibility. I don't have that kind of money to spend on replacing the laptop and all the stuff that comes along with it. So I will not be leaving it with a small lady at Wal-Mart who would assuradely be defenseless against a larger, stronger thief who would lay claim to it. And without a guaruntee from Wal-Mart for my computer's safe return, I think I have better odds of keeping it if I keep it with me.

Besides, there are more cameras in even the most podunk area Wally Worlds than there are in some casinos. They can watch me all they want. They can even ask me to leave the store, and I will walk away politely and without incident. But no, you may not hold my several-thousand-dollar backpack, thankyouverymuch.



tweaker

A Matter Of Pride*

*alternate title: A New Hobby

Look up the word 'pride.' It has many definitions. Some of them are somewhat negative. Pride is even a deadly sin. But one can have pride in the actions of another...

****************

A few Saturdays ago, The Wifey, The Little Girl, and I all loaded up and went to the elementary school for a Renaissance Fair the school was holding. It was a neat little carnival, with huge inflatable slides and bounces, food and drink, and lots of little carny games for the kiddies. We were there for quite some time, and fun was had by all. The Little Girl got her face painted and got one of those little ribbon things for her hair.

When we made our way to the games, I saw something I would never have expected to see at a public school anywhere in the United States: an archery range. Small, but a real range. Like with real bows and real friggin arrows. It only took asking my daughter once. She was excited.

The guys running it were running a good, safe range. If someone was downrange, bows were down and all arrows were on the ground. They were helpful to the little kiddies, and very encouraging to all comers. When it was our turn, a man handed us a small wrist guard and said we were next. I helped The Little Girl get her guard on, and we followed our host to our lane. Our hay bales were at about five yards, and were painted with a bull's eye, an inner ring, and an outer ring. They handed The Little Girl a small compound bow (!!!) and were ready to get her all set up when the man asked me if I'd like to help her instead. With a huge grin and a glow, I happily accepted his offer as he handed me three arrows.

We set up at the firing line, and I quickly showed her how everything worked. Then I told her to pull the bowstring back and hold it for a second to get a feel for it, then return it to rest without dry-firing it. When she was comforable with it, I showed her how to nock an arrow, and told her that, once she drew the arrow back, to look down the shaft and aim it like a gun (yes, she can aim well:). She pulled the string back, and I stepped aside and let her have the moment.

It was a long moment. She held the string back long enough for the guy at the range to comment ("Man, she can hold that thing back forever! She's strong for a kid that young!"). She was smiling, but very serious as she adjusted her windage and elevation searching for the right moment to loose. I didn't rush her; I only reminded her that when she was ready just to let go. Finally, she found her aim and got very still.

I belive that, for a moment, Mother Earth gave pause to her rotation. The wind calmed, silence fell over us, and all the world was right. I watched patiently when, in slow motion, she opened her hand. The missile took flight, and for the first time my daughter fired an arrow from the bow! Before I had a chance to celebrate her getting it right, I was corrected on just how right she was. I followed the arrow through its flight, and believed with every fiber of my being that the result was real: she had a hit dead in the center of the inner ring, just below the bull's eye. The small crowd that was watching erupted in a cheer.

********************

My eyes are welling as I type this.

Immense pride in oneself is bad. The same level of pride in another, however, is good. Great, even, especially when it's for a child. My little girl is a bona-fide shooter. I cannot wait until her next birthday when she finally gets her pink Crickett rifle, but for now we may have to invest in a new hobby.

Daddy's proud of you, Sweet Pea. I love you very, very much.



tweaker

There Will Be Yelling

Yes, there will. And I've got it coming, too. As I have learned recently, there are some who follow my blog regularly (thanks, y'all!!!). There are even some with whom my primary means of communication is either through blogging or commenting on their blogs. So I am sorry for the severe blog-drought lately.

Work has been a slaughter. It's a good problem to have, from a business prospective. My company just had a recent round of layoffs (one of the hardest days of my professional career, and another post coming soon) to get "lean and mean", and the timing was a rough. We have been slammed to the teeth for the last couple of months, and what little time I have had I have been spending with my wife and daughter, which has the unfortunate side effect of leaving the blog a bit on the empty side. I hope you understand.

Right now, I am typing this on my laptop in a hotel in Levelland, TX, which is a bump in the road about a half-hour due west of Lubbock. This is truly The Middle of Nowhere, and I mean the point at which the distance from nowhere is measured. About the only thing here is a large junior college and oil. I'm here at for the college. We are putting in a modern, state-of-the-art sound system in a very large (for a junior college) basketball stadium. There was a crew here last week, and I joined them after a late-afternoon flight on Easter Sunday.

I'm 375 miles from home, with a fridge full of beer from the one beer joint near here (we're in a dry county. Yay.) and not a damn thing to do. We brought a projector and a small computer speaker system from the office for watching movies on, and have only each other for entertainment. After a few beer-soaked evenings, I finally decided to give this blog some attention.

I don't fully enjoy being so far from home for so long, but it does have a couple of decent perks. Since I'm miles from home, I get plenty of time to goof off with the guys without having to worry about driving home. I call my wife and daughter every single night, but I get to hang out after hours with the guys. I get to watch movies that The Wifey has no interest in seeing (stupid guy comedies, folks. No stag films here:). But, the time of brotherhood is drawing to a close, and I long for home. It is time to set my sights on the horizon...

I typed up two really good posts set them to appear tommorow and Saturday, and hopefully I can get back into the habit of posting at least somthing on a (semi-?) daily basis. I hope y'all enjoy them. I really enjoyed the hell out of tomorrow's post, so y'all come back, ya hear?



tweaker