Buying a car is about as much fun as being repeatedly punched in the face. This baffles me. Maybe it's because I'm a woman and I've been conditioned to think of shopping as fun, but it just seems that buying something big and shiny shouldn't be any more difficult than buying something small and shiny. I keep telling myself that if I had giant wads of cash hanging out of my pockets, it would be a different story, but even then you'd still have to deal with car salesmen. Glad-handed sycophants wearing cheap suits and smiling their Crest-whitened smiles. Honest people generally don't become car salesmen and the ones that do experience a Smeagol-like transformation into slimy, shriveled husks of what they once were. They're unscrupulous; even the unskilled among them will try to find a way to avoid turning an honest phrase. Even when they are caught outright in a lie, they persist.
The endangered Bald Tire
No matter who you are, they will treat you like an idiot. If you were Henry freaking Ford they would try to convince you that the oil sheen slowly spreading out from under the car was just its "love juice."
How I see car salesmen:
How car salesmen see me:
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