PATRICK MCVAY

WRITER

My Musings

This text is currently hidden by a css change. Alow's me to go directly to the category description because it is editable in the front end,
Font size: +

Where Have The Tube Men Gone?

Tube-Men-2

In my family, we buy a car once every 7 or 8 years, which may be hard to imagine given how pleasant the car-buying experience is. Some people de-stress by doing yoga, or meditating, or engaging in mindfulness, but I prefer to pull into a car dealership in my rusty old Mazda 3 on a Saturday afternoon and let the soothing car buying experience wash over me. The blaring muzak, the smoking grills (who doesn't want to spend an afternoon eating hotdogs at a car dealership?), the helium-balloon archways – these things help to focus my mind and relax me when it's needed most. Alas, all the fun devices that dealerships formerly used to reel in buyers have been stowed away. What used to feel like a carnival now has the ambiance of a wake.

Car buying used to be complicated by the negotiation process, where you haggle over prices, colors, and incentives, but these days there are no cars to buy, so the haggling is over before it has started. Instead, you're told which vehicle you're going to purchase, even though it hasn't been assembled yet let alone shipped from Korea, what features it will have, and how much over MSRP you're going to pay. So much easier and more refreshing than back when MSRP was the most you'd ever pay for a car. Frankly, no one paid MSRP. There were always cash incentives. Back then, after sitting down with a salesman who shamefully compliments your threadbare canvas jacket and gives you the bad news that you're going to be buckling under the weight of backbreaking monthly payments, you say thanks and get to up walk out, whereupon you are tackled by a higher-ranking associate before you can reach the door and are dragged back to learn that the price of the car has suddenly dropped by two grand. This might go on for several tension-relieving hours. 

These days, if you stand up and threaten to walk out without signing on the dotted line, a higher-ranking sales associate jumps up and opens the door for you on the way out. "Good luck out there!" they say.

They know you'll be back, and you'll give them a check for $2,000 to reserve a car you have never seen and will never get to drive until you have pilfered money from your children's college fund and are maneuvering your overpriced purchase off the lot. 

Stop complaining. You have no one to blame but yourself. You knew last year, when interest rates were low, that you were going to need a car soon, but you let gas prices surge and inflation take root before dragging yourself off to enjoy the car-buying experience. Let that be a lesson to you.  

Gods and Fathers
Yo Adrian!
 

Comments

No comments made yet. Be the first to submit a comment
Already Registered? Login Here
Guest
Wednesday, 22 May 2024

 

 

Daily Haiku

 

Cats oft’ void their guts.

They cough out fur balls. They puke.  

We tread carefully.  

 

College Tuition

We dig ourselves a deep hole

Need a second job.

 

Now that I’m sixty

People think I’m a wise man

Probably, I’m not

 

I’m in my Fifties

But tomorrow I’m Sixty

Will need a sports car

 

My PCP Says

“Keep doin’ what yer doin’”

Prob’ly I should not

 

It’s St. Patrick’s Day

We eat beef that has been corned

Whatever that means

 

Robots and A.I.

I will make use of these soon

To do my taxes

 

Strange Oscar night end

Pacino failed to mention

Best pic nominees

 

Who’s this Katie Britt?

Scary. Wierd. We could have used

A Trigger Warning

 

Subscribe To The Blog

Produce This Audio Play!

Ever wanted to produce a radio play?  Think you have the mettle?  Read on!

Tag Cloud

Bands I've seen cornhole Head injuries Religion Joan Jett Stories I should write Plastic Work Soul Coughing Accounting Me soapbox rantings Mass General Hospital The Future Radiohead Emergencies Food town square Folk Music baseball Liz Phair Bill Monroe The Old Days Audio Ice Dancing My grandparents gathering throngs Chowder Vaughn Imaginings Bicycles vacation Butterfingers Rabbit Hole Wind Sugarbush Dad advice Yeast Hawaii Eating and Drinking Spice Girls Bodysurfing Brain Surgery Marketing Gimmicks Eclipse Audubon Bar weather College 1980s COVID-19 Boston Drumming Syracuse Mom and Dad TV Halloween Tom Waits Bikes Diseases Football NFL Grass Skiing Rock Bands Politics As Usual midwinter vacations Skiing COVID Canadiana Godfather punk music When I die Cats nukes Earth curling shoes Roommates I've Had Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde Red Sox My Estate Good Reads BB King Climate Change technology Short Fiction Car Dealerships afterlife The Past Beer coronavirus Golf high winds Music Guns and Ammo plan mid-winter vacations Quebect Big Shoes Allergies tambourrine Advertising Ticketmaster Bands I've Seen Soviet Union Weather the future Vaccines Existential Crisis Art Canada Candy Ukraine Skating Belgian Ales The future Email Spoon the band Putin Texting Stairs the sea Cars Smoke Meat Biden Cornhole star Coyotes First World Problems Teeth Them Kids seasons My sisters Mike Doughty Reveillon Hurricanes US Senate Scotch and Sirloin War and Peace Royal Stuff Hand Planes Knots Reese's Peanut Butter Cups Peacekeeping Zoom Bob Dylan Snow Guns Pats Communication Channels Real Estate Hot Air Balloon China New England Masks Brewing People I know Europe Motorists Christmas Sports Elvis Presley Things I've done acerbic high school principal Soccer Ketchup Fiction Barber Shops Bunker Soup Bands I haven't seen Trump winter Theater My Parents Hache Verde NPR Mustard Martinis Higher Education