Crazy People

If the world were going to end in an hour, there’d be a goof out on your lot asking if he could drive the Mustang. Air raid sirens are going off; people are running the streets in a panic. Others are on their knees praying, but this guy is oblivious. He wants to talk to you about a freaking car.

Let’s face it. Times have been tough for car men lately. For the last couple of years business has been crappy; virtually no one is making any money. (But take heart, remember the second rule: “What goes around, comes around”.) It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but for anyone who’s in this business for the long haul, it’s just part of life, albeit an extremely shitty part of life.

The problem with slow business is this: the crazy people still come out. They’re not going to buy a car anyway, so what does it matter to them if the economy is in the tank? When times are good, car men can simply broom these vermin. They’re an annoying part of the business, but you’ve got to take the good with the bad, right? But when business is down these idiots are like a piece of glass in your eye, irritating as hell.

Crazy people don’t care if business is up or down. They don’t care if it’s rainy or sunny. The don’t care if your closing in fifteen minutes. They’ve got no money, and a lot of spare time with nothing to do. Sometimes they’re just lonely. They just want someone to talk to. You.

What do you do?

I’m a firm believer that the best way to get rid of someone who’s jacking you off is to ask them to buy the car. Be specific, be strong. “Got any down payment money, you idiot? How’s your credit, flake? You gonna buy or what—asshole? Well maybe the asshole part is too extreme, but that’s what you’re thinking, right? Why the hell am I out here in the cold talking to this goof?

Make me emperor of this country, and I’ll enact a law that says stroking a car salesman is punishable by death. It’s the charitable part of me that feels this way. Trust me; the world will be a better place.

Oh, well. There is no practical way of dealing with these people. Someone should invent a mooch detector that’s mounted at the front of your driveway, like those anti-theft devices at the exits in stores. Vaporizing laser beams wouldn’t be bad either.

Maybe their I.Q. and credit score should be tattooed to their foreheads.

Now that’s an idea.


Talk to you later,

David