an education

This past Saturday went by in a haze of driving, overcast skies, rain, disappointments, and epiphanies. K and I drove into the neighbouring state of New Hampshire to take a look at two cars I was really interested in, both of which I'd researched beforehand and weeded out from a crop of other candidates. It was a long drive, longer than we expected, lengthened by our unintentional map-lessness (which led to our getting lost several times) and the first of several disappointments, which required a detour. Namely, one of the two cars had been sold moments before we arrived at the dealership, despite the fact that the salesman knew we were coming a long way from out of state to see it. I called him when we were a few streets away, to make sure we were headed in the right direction towards his dealership in Hampton Falls. He was unapologetic and made as though his hands were tied, saying, "Well, a woman just came in and paid cash an hour ago. That's life, right?" Agonising.

So we headed east, to Manchester, NH, to see another prospective set of wheels. I'll spare you the long story, but I had a pretty illuminating encounter with what had previously only been rumours in my mind about the world of American salesmen. Bureaucratic problems with my 'foreign' driver's licence, refusal to give me a warranty, squabbles about an already agreed-upon sale price, and the complications of buying a car in a different state than the one in which you intend to drive it -- all these were small troubles in the end, utterly and stunningly eclipsed by the aggression, condescension, and acrid machismo of the salesman. He was relentless. In fact, he was so stupefyingly beligerent, he actually achieved the opposite of his intended result -- I didn't buy the car. Even though I liked it.

K and I stood up and walked out of there feeling like we'd been zapped with a Tazer. So -- epiphanies? Don't buy a car out of state. And most importantly, don't buy from a dealer. And apparently, ALL American car-dealers are like this. They're as bad as the telemarketers who've been calling me up since I got a phone in this country (apparently the MasterCard company kindly passed my contact details on to these bottom-feeders). Bloody hell.