My dearest husband, Mr. B, is a creature of habit. He likes the known, the safe and the routine. He is the happiest when nothing interferes with his daily routine. He gets up at the same time everyday, shaves the way he always does, brushes his teeth in the right order (always before flossing) and takes the same route to work, stopping at his favorite morning place for caffeine. Any deviation from his scheduled plan can and will set him off for the remainder of the day. I love him, nevertheless.
I could not be more opposite. I do not like one day to be anything like the next. I like to change it up, mix it up and I loathe routine. Blah. Freedom and spontaneity are my thing. I have been known to run around my neighborhood bra-less and free on more than one occasion. I have been caught dancing with feathers for the sake of freedom. My friend, Mama can attest to this.
So, when it came time in the recent weeks, to get rid of his 1999
tin can CRV, he was not happy. Yes, I said 1999. As in the song, 1999 by Prince. I am not dreaming as I write this but you can still sue me if I go too fast.
Four days after I was released from the hospital with a serious illness, we headed to a dealership with a particular car in mind. To say that I was a bit out of it is an understatement and the reason Mr. B took control of the negotiating with the sales man. Being a former banking officer, I usually take the lead in these situations. He did a great job and we signed a purchase and sales agreement.
Both of us felt good about the car but there was something about the salesman that we did not quite trust. I do not believe I am alone in having these thoughts about car salesmen, am I?. He was the “everything is going to be ok” type of sales man. “Don’t worry, it’s all good”, he kept repeating. When asked for reassurance that the terms we agreed upon were in fact set in stone he replied by saying, “Don’t worry, there will be NO surprises when you come back for the car. We can match your credit union’s rate if not beat it! It’s all good.” Famous last words.
Fast forward to this past Saturday when we were to pick up our new vehicle. Because I have my priorities straight…instead of going to the emergency room after fearing for my life once again, I accompanied Mr. B to pick up our new car. With back pain and thoughts of death lurking close by, I stuck to the plan. In all honesty, I was afraid Mr. B would use my almost dying as an excuse to cancel the whole deal and keep his beloved tin can.
Sure enough as per our suspicions, Mr. It’s all good of a sales man did not come through. The documentation presented to us to sign had a higher interest rate than promised. I will admit that this “promise” was not in writing and thus take some of the blame for trusting this happy salesman’s word. We knew better, but damn, he was convincing.
Thankfully, my infected Latina blood began to boil. The former banker in me stood up tall and the near death me, suddenly came to life. I was not in the mood to be messed with and convinced that my death was imminent, I had nothing to lose. Believe me, you did not want to be there to witness that me.
Let me put it this way, once I was done expressing my dislike, the sky was all purple there were people running everywhere.
Not only did we ask to speak with the manager but also the manager’s manager, the manager’s manager’s manager, the manager’s manager’s manager’s father, mother and great grandfather. They all came.
Needless to say, we drove off with our new/used CRV stocked with all the bells and whistles, a full tank and I believe they even threw in a personal driver as a peace-offering. Do not quote me on that, I should probably read the fine print.