It's official. The car formerly known as the-first-new-car-I-ever-bought-for-myself is totalled thanks to the inattentive driver who slammed in to it.
Give me a moment.....sniff...my Saturn....how I loved you...
Okay. Now another round of vehicular shuffle.
See, the Saturn was mine, but when Jason's old car died, I sold him the Saturn, then bought the truck formerly known as my son's because he didn't need it while in boot camp and couldn't afford it any more but didn't want to sell it. Sheesh. You didn't think I actually CHOSE to drive a freaking pick up truck, did you?? Blech. Thing drives like a mule.
So the plan is to do the time warp again. Jason is buying the truck and I get a new car. I'm thinking about a PT Cruiser. Oh how I hated those things when they first came out. I thought they were the ugliest things on the planet. But they've grown on me, sort of like a fungus. Now I think I want one.
But I hate and despise going to car lots. Why? Here is why:
Me: How much is this car?
Slime ball salesman: Well, that depends young lady. How much do you want your monthly payment to be?
Me: Oh, what we say fifty dollars?
SBS: Well, hehehe, little lady, I don't know about that.
Me: I have my own financing. How much is this car right here?
SBS: I bet we can do better for you on your financing, young lady.
Me: That's okay. How much is this car?
SBS: Well, what interest rate is on your financing, because I'm betting we can beat it. Come on in and let's talk to my sales manager.
Me: No. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Do. That. I. Want. To. Know. How. Much. This. Car. Costs.
SBS: That depends.
Me: Never mind, I'm going to need my down payment for bail money after I kill you.
Any car salesmen reading this, here are some hints in case a partially gray-haired lady shows up on your lot next week.
1. Don't call me "young lady". Especially if you are younger than me. It makes me want to vomit and I may do so on your cheap suit. I am not young. I am old and I want the deference and respect that being old with an excellent credit rating deserves.
2. Answer my freaking questions. I am not an idiot. I know what I want and how I want to do it. I do not care about your input into my financial decisions.
3. Shut up.
Loki sez: Want me to go with you? Rough 'em up? Show 'em my deadly claws?
Edit: Sorry Heather. Everyone involved is upright and breathing!