Car dealers are such annoying people that any time I have to interact with one I give a fake name and address, just out of habit. You never want these people to know where to find you. But since my husband has mostly caved on believing that my car is on the brink of collapsing under the weight of its own shittiness, we had to put up with a pushy car salesman. And that’s how we found out the secret to getting them to leave you alone.
SALESMAN: Welcome, folks! Y’all interested in test driving a car today?
HUSBAND: I sure am! (Honey, does this gum cover up the beer smell on my breath?)
ME: (Stop trying to whisper when you’ve been drinking…it just comes out really loud.)
SALESMAN: Um, so what are you looking for in your next car?
ME: Just the basics. A good solid family car. With rapper rims and really dark tinted windows. I don’t like people to see my business when I’m driving.
SALESMAN: Oh. Okay. Well, we sell a lot of this item right here. It’s got blah-blah-blah (I think he was talking about engine sizes or gas mileage or something. I was mesmerized by the inflatable wavy arm man at the end of the lot.) And just LOOK at all that trunk space!
HUSBAND: Oh no. That’s way too much trunk space. (She’ll put my body in there! She’s told people she’s going to kill me and dispose of my body!)
SALESMAN: Oh, now, a little ole thing like her? She just looks too pretty to hurt anybody!
HUSBAND: (You don’t know what she’s capable of! Go for help! NOW!)
ME: Do you have anything with a vinyl trunk? You know, without any carpeting in it at all?
SALESMAN: Um, over here we’ve got this car. It’s our newest vehicle in the family!
ME: Oooo, it’s very shiny. Does it come in all chrome?
SALESMAN: You mean, like a silver paint?
ME: No, I mean, actual chrome. The whole car. See, if you have the entire car done in chrome, it blinds all the other drivers and they can’t bother you.
HUSBAND: (I told you she’s crazy!)
ME: Shut up, or I’m getting the one with the small trunk and then I’ll definitely have to hack you in pieces to dispose of you.
SALESMAN: Uh, and this model here has these convenient storage areas in the back. You just lift this panel and stow your gear, then drop the panel back in place.
ME: Cool! I bet that’s how a lot of people are getting their drugs across the border. In a minivan. Because no one ever suspects the minivans.
SALESMAN: You know, folks, it just sounds like you’re not really sure what you’d like to purchase. How about you just take this car for the next couple of days? See if you like it, and then we’ll talk business then.
ME: Really? I can just take it? How far can I drive it?
SALESMAN: You know, just use it for your everyday kind of stuff, going to work, running errands. Just get a feel for the vehicle, you know?
ME: Suh-weet! Do you have one without any carpeting in the interior either? Just in case…
Lorca Damon 
If the salesman told me I could “take it for a few days”, I would totally go all Ferris Bueller on it.
Very funny post.
And just so you know, I found your post from The Bloggess. I assume you’re a fan, and I’m currently giving away a signed copy of her book FYI: http://themainland.net/contest/target-bloggess/
Isn’t she the best? She makes me think of vodka.
Yes, and now you made me think of vodka, which makes me sad because I’m all out.
Very funny! So glad to have connected on Twitter. Guess it’s good for something after all! I look forward to laughing at you some more. I mean with you…whatever! Good stuff!
No, laughing at me is probably more appropriate. I spend about 1/16th of my day laughing at the stuff I did!
Several decades ago, in a sort of former life, I used to sell cars. In Houston, Texas. So I know how to play the game. Last summer I decided to surprise my deserving Veteran hubby with the slightly used motorcycle he had been drooling over for 2 months, but wasn’t going to buy for himself. I got up early while my night owl was still sleeping, took the dog so she wouldn’t alert him to the fact that I had left the premises, drove to the bike dealership, walked into the showroom with my dog, pointed to the bike I wanted, and said: “I will pay you $X,XXX for that bike right there, tax, title, license, and dealer prep included, out the door, and not one penny more.” The price I quoted was about 20% below what they were asking. I had done my homework, I knew the book value of the bike was MORE than they were asking. Irrelevant, only wusses pay full pop.
So the sales dude goes back to talk to the manager. Comes back way too fast, with a big fake smile. “You’ve got a deal. Come back with your husband and we’ll fill out the paperwork then.”
Trying to be sneaky… get the gullible guy in here, so they can jack the price back up. Nuh-uh, no way. “You don’t understand,” I said. “My husband wants this bike, and he deserves this bike, he earned it the hard way, by serving our country in combat in Vietnam. But he will not buy this bike for himself. He just got a lump sum from the government for his service-connected disability, and he intends to use all of that money to pay bills, because he doesn’t want to be selfish. So I am going to have to fill out the paperwork all by my little ole self, or else this sale isn’t happening.”
Then the dog and I were escorted back to the office where the paperwork lives. When the salesman calculated the taxes, et al, it came out to 20 cents more than the price I had told him I wasn’t going a penny over. I just looked at the guy. He pulled a quarter out of his pocket and paid the 20 cents himself.
My hubby cried when I came home and woke him with a kiss… and he found a set of bike keys in his hand.
I like the clipboard idea, Lh. That’s the way my daughter looks for apartments. I have found car lots to be great places to teach feminism. Wait until you take your 17-year-old daughter to buy a car while your husband is home on the sofa with malaria or something. She learns the true meaning of the phrase “little lady.”
I love when I get a female salesman, and the other salesman call her “Sweetie,” or “Honey.” And she just smiles, because her poor job depends on it!
I think my dad loved to shop for cars just to screw with the salesmen. When I bought my last car I showed up with a clipboard with questions on it and blanks for the answers–1 page for each dealership. The idea that I would comparison shop seemed to really freak them out.
I love lying about my profession. “You’re a stunt car driver?” “Yeah, now c’mon, let’s take a test drive. I wanna see what this baby can do!”
In all seriousness, the salesman offered to let us take it home for a few days. I think he was just tired of our stupid jokes!