In my short twenty-something years on this planet, it has entered my head somewhere along the way that I am significant. I know this to be entirely untrue. I realized this when sitting with a finance manager of a particular car dealership signing a paper that keeps me broke and them paid, and discovered how uneasy I've become around signature lines. No, they don't keep me awake at night, they just make me uncertain about everything. Like, "If I sign this piece of paper, they have the right to revoke my car and rape my credit score at any given time." Now, I can't give you an estimate of how many people entertain even mild conspiracy theories, but I know the number's up there. I don't suspect people consciously, I just somehow imagine them walking into a classroom labeled "wallet-raping 101". Or, at least, being pulled aside after a declined sale by a fellow associate and being told that he's too nice a guy, gave up too easy, put the pressure on, etc. Here's how you get more money, and all that.
But I know why I suspected the guy: He understood the numbers, and I didn't. Car starts at $8,000 and by the time you sign for it, you're agreeing to pay $11,000. How the hell? It's easy to imaging you're being taken. I mean, he is a car salesman.
I apologize to car salesmen everywhere. It's a job. I understand that perfectly well, believe me. But the stereotype is there for good reason. I'm not saying all car salesmen live up to the stereotype. But somebody did. Good lord, which stereotypes might I fit?
I don't want to think about that...
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1 comment:
COMMENT!!!!!
Don't feel bad little man, no one comments on mine either. Well, one, and that's because I said I never talk to my old friends and one of them told me that I can always talk to him. But that's the only one.
COMMENT!!!!!
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