A Big Twuck

When we stepped on the lot a non-typical salesperson moved in quickly, thin and tall with massive lips and braces swarming over his bad teeth. He wore a tie and spoke quickly but softly, which I was finding to be rare with salespeople. I told him about the truck I had seen online and he knew right away what I was talking about. He lead us over to a Silverado long bed with a single cab, manual transmission. Nik balked again at the stick shift. We crammed into the cab, three across the bench with Nikki’s legs uncomfortably pressed against the salesman’s khaki pants so I could shift and took it for a test drive.

It drove pretty well but we figured out quickly that it was sweltering hot in the cab. Nik tried to find the A/C to cool us down. “Hey,” she remarked, “There’s no A/C in here.”

The salesman twisted the handle on the door, rolling the window all the way down. “Here’s the Air,” he said with a laugh. We didn’t even smile. I drove around the unfamiliar town, up and down a couple of freeways, noting that the visibility wasn’t great as I tried to change a few lanes. It could have been the tightly packed cab or my growing discomfort in my jeans and black t-shirt against the scorching leather seat, but I didn’t feel that rush from the Tundra.

When we got back Nik and I took a walk to talk things over. “It’s a pretty nice truck,” I said. “But no A/C…”

“We live in the Central Valley, babe,” Nik said gently. “A/C is pretty much mandatory.”

“I know. But the price is so right,” I said, trailing off. The sticker price was under $12,000, well within my price range especially once I started talking them down and putting forth my trade-in.

“But you don’t know what kind of deal you could work for that Tundra,” Nik replied.

“That’s true.”

“Maybe we go talk to them, see if they can throw air conditioning in aftermarket,” she suggested. I balked. Aftermarket A/C? Did that even work?

“Well, let’s just see what they say.”

We went back in and told the salesguy about our dilemma. “I’ll be honest,” I said. “This is the second nicest truck I’ve seen in two days. But it has a few things I’m not crazy about, one being the leather seats and the other being the lack of air…” I went on to explain our climate situation.

“Let me see what I can do about that,” he said in a chipper voice and disappeared. A few minutes later he returned with the King of all salesman prototypes: His vast gut spilled over his belt looking like a mammoth ball of dough squeezed through a cardboard tube and restrained by a shiny silver polo shirt with black lapels sopping up the sweat from his beefy neck. His thickly furred hands were adorned with cheeseball gold jewelry and his swarthy complexion made him look like an extra from The Sopranos. When he spoke he gesticulated wildly and smiled too much for it to be sincere.

“What I’ll do for you is put in some air conditioning for $1,300: Now that’s half the price of retail so we’re getting no profit at all. Plus I’ll throw in some sheepskin seat covers to protect from that leather.” He trailed off into a diatribe about his wife liking leather seats and him hating it, eventually rambling about breaking down cost points into daily amounts of chump change. My attention wandered and my eyes glazed over. Blah, blah, blah. I didn’t like this guy at all.

I repeated myself when he came up for air. “Well, the thing is that, while generous, your offer still doesn’t change the fact that this is the second best truck I’ve driven. The fact is that truck is a bit out of my price range but I’d kick myself if I didn’t at least go down there and see what they could do for me.”

“Well, how much is that other truck.”

“It’s more than this one, but what I’m saying is that money wise, we’re good to go on this one here. I can totally make that happen.” Guido and the salesdude’s eyes grew wide and I think I saw a trickle of drool appear on Guido’s chin.

“So what’s the price on the other truck?” Salseguy asked again.

“It’s in the neighborhood of ninteen grand,” I said, honestly. Salesdude and Guide exchanged a look.

“Well, shoot, son, why didn’t you say so!? We got something like that right here!” I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” I wondered how on earth they could know what I was looking for based solely on a price point. Salesdude crooked a finger at me and began walking quickly toward the back of the lot.

Nik and I hustled to follow and as we got outside Nik took a suspicious glance at the line of F-150s. “Are you going to show us a Ford?” she asked, spitting the last word out like a piece of gristle. Salesdude stopped short and turned; “Yes, ma’am.”

I piped up, “I don’t buy Fords.”

In retrospect it was probably the wrong thing to say at a Ford dealer. He launched into a tirade about how the F-150 was rated #1 by so and so and had solid body construction this and that. I glazed over again. “Uh-huh. Well, I’m a Chevy guy so no thanks.” I said. Fixed Or Repaired Daily: That semi-amusing fake acronym popped into my mind. Found On Road Deserted. Beaten, Salesdude showed us back into the front, where the truck was parked, and said to wait, he’d be back in a moment. I knew he was going to get the manager to put on the screws, they certainly didn’t want us to leave.

Page 6 of 9 | Previous page | Next page