It’s car shopping time. Wahoo!!!
I read the reviews. I scoured consumer reports in magazines. I scrutinized owners’ comments on the Net.
You see, I have my dream car and then I have my car. My dream car is a Maserati. And my car is the one I’m going to buy. The difference between the two? The first one is on my future list and, the other, my car, I can justify buying.
I like my car’s mileage. I like its service satisfaction reports from owners. I like its horsepower. (I like fast cars. I can’t help it. It runs in the family. It’s genetic.) I only have to confirm it handles well, and decide where to buy it. All that stands between me and my car is a test drive and a salesperson.
I have a friend, Dave, who is car-crazy and when he hears I’m going car shopping, he wants to come along for the ride, literally.
Dave joins me at the car dealership closest to my house. I secretly hope it’s the only dealership we have to visit. All things being equal, I prefer doing my car business close to home.
A salesperson, Eric, greets Dave and me as we walk into the dealership. Eric seems like a nice guy.
Eric brings us into his office. I explain I’m interested in my car. I state I’m the buyer; Dave is joining me as a confidante and friend, but I’m the one spending the money.
Eric proceeds to look at Dave when he speaks about the car’s great mileage and horsepower, and glances my way when he talks about its color and design. It doesn’t feel so ...