I woke up Saturday morning at 9 something because I had an early morning hair appointment with Staci. Esteban originally had wanted to look all nice for car shopping, but I pointed out that it was raining and yucky outside and it just didn’t make sense. He opted for a nice shirt and jeans and I had utter cuteness going on with black loafers, no socks, boot cut jeans and a white t-shirt with DKNY written in black across the chest. Esteban wanted to get an early start at looking at cars, so I ate a banana and we went outside to find that it was raining quite hard. A quick run through Sbux for an iced mocha to chase away the sluggish post- Bad Bar head stuffiness and then Esteban dropped me off at the salon and went back to the car dealer to pick up a Maxima. Staci was running a bit late, so he returned and we took the Maxima for a spin and decided that while it was a nice car, it wasn’t the car for us. And also, it was listed as ‘bronze’ color, but in actuality, it was the color of a turd. No turd cars. Not for me.
I went back to the salon and Esteban went out in the rain to get some cash and a bagel, and proceeded to be the very model of a perfect husband and sit in uncomfortable chairs in the salon’s waiting room, reading In Style while I chatted merrily away with Staci about everything in the world. When she was done ripping away 90% of my eyebrows and also making me look lovely, we scurried through the raindrops back to the dealer. Then back in the Monte to endeavor to the Valley in search of the car.
‘We have to go to Oshkosh. There’s a Lincoln LS there that I want you to see.’
‘How much is it?’
‘About twenty thousandish.’
‘Weet, that payment is going to be like $550 a month for sixty months or something. You know I don’t want that.’
‘Well’. Actually’ Yesterday I checked with the bank and with the interest rate they are prepared to give us, it would be about the same that we were paying for the Monte. And actually, they have a blank check waiting for me, so we’re all set for financing. But of course, we can still shop around for a better deal.’
I cringed. I hated having done that to him. It was such a power play thing to force the issue and get my way. I felt really lousy and completely deserved to have the argument that we were undoubtedly about to have.
‘Wow.’ He said quietly. And then he turned to me and caressed my face. ‘Good job, sweetie. I’m proud of you.’
Which was completely unexpected.
Thus, we traversed through the rain, down to Oshkosh, and checked out the Lincoln LS. The same Lincoln LS that I was beginning to think of as MY Lincoln LS.
Esteban hated it. His head rubbed against the top. He felt it was extremely cramped. He wasn’t impressed by the engine or the fine leather seating or the fact that the salesguy was twelve years old and had insisted upon coming for the test drive with us. And the most important thing when we look for our respective vehicles is that the other person doesn’t absolutely hate it.
Thus, it is bittersweet. So close, and yet, so far. Good bye, Lincoln LS. We hardly knew ye. In fact’ a moment of silence for the LS.
And break.
We ebbed back up highway 41 to our most favorite of all car salesmen, Ira in Neenah. Ira is older than God and about four feet tall. We bought the truck from Ira. We even sent Joel to buy his truck from Ira. We would have purchased the Monte from him as well, but Ira had no Monte to sell. Ira is our man. We love Ira.
We trekked through the rain and located Ira. I have to admit, each time we find him, I’m surprised that he is still breathing, let alone schlepping around a car lot. He made us wait in the shelter of the dealership while he went out in the rain to bring up a loaded Bonneville for our appraisal, making us feel like dog poop for making a ninety-year-old man give us valet service. We took a test drive in the Bonneville and learned that the ceiling was too low for Esteban in this one as well, but not before we got unbelievably lost somewhere outside of Neenah. Which is ridiculous in the way that Wisconsin cities can go from city to complete rural nothingness in the blink of an eye. And despite what farmers will tell you, every cow looks the same. Every. One.
We muddled our way back and Ira then brought us a fattie Caddie, which was, as Esteban kept declaring, ‘like riding on a cloud of titties’. I explained that while it was a very nice vehicle, if it compelled him to talk like a trucker, that was reason enough to not buy the thing right there. Of course, it didn’t have a moonroof and it felt sort of like an old man car. Inexplicably, Ira guided us back to the Caddie and then gave us a ride around the block, talking about how nice it was. I felt like my grandpa was driving me to Sunday school. He then also showed us another Caddie with a CD player that was exactly like his own, exclaiming ‘Now, you can’t do better than than, can you Dad?’ as he exited the car to get the other one, leaving Esteban and I alone to discuss.
‘I don’t like these. They are old man cars.’
‘I think Ira just called me ‘Dad’. Ira. He thinks I’m his dad?’
‘Oh my god, there’s a Mason symbol on the front of that one! It’s a Masonic car! How hip would I be, driving the big ivory Cadillac with the Masonic symbol on the front? I’d have to start going to buffets at 4 o’clock and complaining about my gout.’
‘Should I call him Daddy-o when he comes back? I just’don’t know what to make of this.’
We broke it gently to Ira that we weren’t interested in the older Cadillac but we would think about the other one. He then requested the keys for the Monte to see what he would give us for a trade-in, which embarrassed the hell out of me because the Monte was trashed. My school books were in the back, along with three jackets, about a hundred empty Dasani bottles, CD cases, and cups from Sbux. Also, we had left a Good Charlotte CD at full volume in the CD player, which I was afraid might frighten Ira and then he’d have a pulmonary embolism in my front seat. Which I’m certain would decrease the trade-in value right there, to be the Death Car of Ira. Word gets around, you know.
He came back from the rain and gave us a fairly good trade-in offer for the Monte, then asked us if we wanted to drive away in the nicer of the two Devilles. We explained that it was on our short list but we wanted to keep looking. It was then that our sweet lovable benevolent Ira went all hardcore on us, giving us reasons why we were idiots for not buying the car right now and that he was giving us a good price and we’re not going to be able to find a good deal like that anywhere else. It was like he was a man possessed. Gone was the friendliness, the grandfatherly love. In its place was a cold, heartless slimy weasel man, wanting us to sign on the dotted line or he’d go for the jugular. We finally made it clear that we were not going to buy a car that we weren’t certain about (although honestly, my decision had been made) and that he wasn’t going to pressure us into anything. I swear that when we walked out the door, he waved us off with a ‘pfffft’.
We were both in shock. Our sweet Ira was no more. Esteban reasoned that when we bought the truck, we had already decided during the test drive that it was the truck for us, and therefore Ira hadn’t needed to pull out the big guns. Ira was still selling cars for a reason, but he had to realize that the hard sell doesn’t work for Gen Xers and only makes us suspicious of hidden agendas.
We drove up the way to another dealer, where we tested a Pontiac Grand Prix GTP, which on paper had everything that I wanted. Leather seats, sun roof, nice big motor, a single heated seat (which seems very selfish to me’ driver has a nice warm tushy while the passenger sits and shivers?), and it wasn’t the color of a turd.
The salesman turned me off almost immediately when he brought the car around for us and Esteban went for the passenger side and I went for the driver side, he looked at me with a raised eyebrow and said ‘YOU’RE driving?’ and Esteban and I both replied ‘I’m the one buying the car.’
This is another thing that I’m ridiculously sensitive about. I cannot stand it when the sales weasel completely ignores me. Had the Monte not been everything I wanted (with the exception of a moon roof), I would have walked out when our guy continued to only address Esteban, despite being repeatedly told that I was the one buying the car. And then later, when they send out their little ‘how do you like the car’ letter, he addressed it to Esteban. Only Esteban. Way to ensure that you’ll never get repeat business from us, you ignorant jackass.
Then, during Esteban’s turn at the wheel, I noticed that the passenger of a souped up truck with many Nascar symbols in the next lane was motioning that we should roll down the windows during a red light. He yelled to us ‘Are you buying that car?’ We yelled back ‘We’re thinking about it.’ He replied ‘You should’ that’s a sweet ride, dude!’ And he said it like a surfer. Or a druggie. Or one of the sea turtles from ‘Finding Nemo’.
Great. Approval from a representative of the local white trash. ‘You can’t buy advertising like that!’ he chortled, but quite honestly, it was almost a reason to NOT buy the car. We also tested a red Impala, which was surprisingly nice but didn’t give me goosebumps. I’m a little afraid to buy such a car in that I might open the trunk and find a golden retriever and 2.3 kids needing to be taken to soccer practice. By that time, however, I was getting loopy and kept repeating ‘that’s a sweet ride dude! Thatsasweetride’ duuuuuuuuuuuuuude.’ And we realized that we were both starving and were damp from coming in and out of the rain and absolutely frozen, thus we went to our favorite Mongolian place in Appleton and inhaled some delicious stir fry. Afterwards, Esteban told me that I could have any dessert I wanted. Anything. Even the Black and Tan Brownie from the microbrewery back in Green Bay. Anything. I was stymied, flush with so many options. I decided upon a small cache of Godiva chocolates, so we stopped at the mall and got some lovely little hazelnut shells and ganache-filled truffles. We also stopped at the DVD store and picked up Esteban’s recent requests for Spiderman and Daredevil. Then, without a word, he picked up the second season of Angel for me. Apparently, he was in an indulgent mood for some reason, although I still don’t know why. I wasn’t arguing.
We then went home, munching on our selected chocolates, and put on our fluffy comfy clothes and then cuddled on the sofa with a big down comforter and watched Daredevil and weren’t chilled to the bone for the very first time since we had left the house. I fell asleep with my head in Esteban’s lap before Electra even fought Bullseye, but it was a lovely way to spend an evening.
