Telling The Truth About
Social Studies
Mike
Smith
My car is a 2002 Toyota Corolla. I bought it
brand new with the help of my aunt when I was 20. One day I
will be able to pay her back. My car has been in a few accidents
and is responsible for such high insurance rates. I like it,
though. I have mixed feelings about it from time to time, but
I always come back to the conclusion that I like it. As of New
Year's Day 2004, I had made 30 payments, meaning that I now
have 30 payments remaining. I plan to own it. I plan to keep
it forever. I won't ever have another car.
The salesman who sold me the car was named Carl. He looked like
he was about 50 years old and admitted that it was his first
day on the job.
"Hope you'll be my first sale," he
said smiling. We took it for a test
drive and he said, "Don't be afraid to punch that accelerator
now." I
punched it and we slid in the rain. We were all afraid, but
I managed to stop sliding and get through the rest of the test
drive. We talked about teaching school, which is what I was
doing at the time and what he had just retired from doing. "I
just need a hobby now," he said.
"Selling cars will work for now, I suppose."
"Do you see any similarities in selling cars and teaching
kids?" I
asked sarcastically.
"Well, believe it or not, dealing with customers is a lot
like dealing
with parents," he said enthusiastically. "It's my
job now to convince
customers that I'm telling the truth about these cars and it
was my old job to convince parents that I was telling the truth
about social
studies." Once I asked Carl a few questions, my aunt and
I knew that he was a talker. She went for the test drive too
and sat up front, making Carl sit in the back. "It's all
about qualifications," Carl said.
"They gotta believe you know what you're
talkin' about or they'll take their business elsewhere."
Carl spoke with a deep southern accent and had a long, diagonal
scar across his nose. I almost asked which job the scar came
from, but I was afraid of getting a legitimate answer. When
we returned to the dealership, I was already sold on the car.
It was everything my other car wasn't -- reliable, new, beautiful.
My old car was actually my aunt's -- a 1987 Pontiac GrandAm
-- she offered to trade it in for this new car. The dealership
was offering a special where they would give you $3,000 on any
trade-in. ANY trade-in!
Carl took us to see this gallery of Toyota cars that lasted
more than
200,000 miles. "See, this is why I love selling Toyotas,"
he said
proudly. We reminded him that he hadn't sold any yet. He looked
offended and we quickly changed the subject. Carl was ready
to talk business now. "What will it take for you to drive
this car out of here today?" My aunt wanted a good bargain.
We were down to $350 a month at one point, which I was willing
to grab, but she wanted something better.
When we dipped below $300 a month, Carl had to go into an office
in the back, where he supposedly talked with a supervisor about
whether or not "this particular steal is possible."
My aunt got Carl down to $210 a month, which Carl guaranteed
his supervisor wouldn't approve. My aunt told him that if he
didn't, then "we're outta here."
"You drive a hard bargain," Carl told my aunt as he
came back from his supervisor's office for the last time. "Approved,"
he said, looking as if he couldn't believe he was wrong.
My aunt saved me $140 a month that day. Two weeks later, I got
a
letter in the mail from my "new sales representative."
She explained how we could reach her and reminded us about what
kinds of services she could provide. She talked about Carl in
the last sentence of the letter. "Your original sales representative
has left to pursue other avenues."
....
Mike Smith is a writer, but makes more money by working at libraries
and radio stations. He once used his training in English to
teach high school Math. "Tell Christian I'm Sorry"
is his first novel. The novel contains a lot of stories. Read
his book. Look at his website (www.tellchristian.com).
To read Mike's Swallowed
Birds-a-Listenin'click here, on this sentence.
or
r ead dennis on the streets of baltimore
