The Good Life Chronicles

It was time to buy a new vehicle. I decided to ease myself into it by going to the Saturn dealer first. What stuck out about the visit to this dealer was that I had under-dressed--as he gave me his spiel verbatim which he had learned at car school just several months previous, I nearly froze my ass off. We went inside where they offered warm beverages--I settled on the chicken noodle soup--it's the first time I've ever had a cup of soup in a car dealership.

I returned a few days later for a test drive of the Saturn SC II. The salesman made a major mistake: as he greeted me, he called me "Kevin." I don't like being called Kevin. If you're going to be off, at least be close. The car itself lacked the necessary udigra I was looking for--not enough muscle. But the soup was good.

Next up was Nissan and the 1995 240 SX. The car accelerated within what I was looking for. Handling was very adequate. Detraction was the fact that it didn't look like a sports car, and when it comes down to it, this is a fairly important factor.

A no-haggle Mazda/Pontiac dealer was next. I first looked at the MX-6. However, when I told the dealer I wasn't planning on buying today, his tone cooled and came across as disinterested in me the customer. Okay, asshole, I'll just do my business elsewhere. But first, I drove the MX-6--it seemed to come up a bit short on the handling and to a lesser extent the acceleration. Looks were okay, but it too was teetering on the non-sports look. Pontiac Firebird--I was not impressed with the feel of the car. After this, I checked out the Ford Probe. Good looks, very good acceleration and handling. Ride seemed rough.

As my search progressed, I learned many things and I was forced to do many things, one of which included spending precious hours of my life with the human sub-species known as the car salesman. Basically, car salesmen can be divided into a handful of distinct categories: there are those who are born to be car salesmen--they're very smooth in the ability to come across as friendly to the buyer; then there are the sorry pathetic lot--these were previously briefly alluded to; then there is the third type--this type has the harried, frazzled look to them. The test drive with this type is a very quiet one. They don't say much, almost as if their mind is on something else, such as a career change. On one hand, you feel a little sympathy for them, but on the other hand, you're kind of glad they're keeping their mouth shut.

Subject: Disillusionment.

Question: Is it better to lead a life of disillusionment--of thinking you're leading a successful life, thinking you're a hotshot that you've accomplished a lot and henceforth enjoying life fully when in actuality you haven't; or, is it better to realize the truth, that your life has been less than expected and henceforth be depressed about it, but at least you have a grip on reality?

Thursday night. Met S.K. at the airport carrying but a simple duffel bag. As we wandered through the airport, he saw I was wearing sandals and asked, “Are those Birkenstocks?” To which I replied, “Targetstocks.”

Later in the weekend, I gave S.K. a pillow to sleep on, at which point he asked, “Are there any drool stains on it?” To which I replied, “No.” To which he replied, “After tonight, there will be.”