Diary of a Used Car Salesman

Buying, renting and selling used cars comes easy to me. The hard part for me is the legal side of my life. If I used my real name to write about certain things that go on in my life… repos, a douchebag ex-partner, zoning battles, the genuine weirdness of many of my customers, I could easily find myself in lawsuit city. It’s a complete bitch to write some of my articles knowing that I have five or six that would make Baruth’s dalliances look like a G rated movie.
I’ll give you an example. Yesterday I had this Darwin deprived cunt with an attitude call me about her rental. She said the heat wasn’t working on it. Fair enough, I said. Just take it five miles down the road and let the auto repair place have a look at it. I schedule a noon appointment and thought all was well.
So around  One thirty rolls I get a call from Juanita, the rental customer. Well, I think it’s inconvenient for me to go up there to have a look at it. What I really want is to have another car.”
“Sure, fine. Just come by at 6:00 and I’ll have another car ready for you.”
6:00 rolls around. I have a couple buying an Escort from me, another new rental, and a mechanic on site. By 6:30 They’re all gone and Juanita is still nowhere to be found. I close up shop and head home.
At 7:20 I get a call from this modern version of ‘The Naked Ape’. “Ralph, why aren’t you here? I told you I was gonna be coming.”
“You said you were going to be there at 6:00 P.M.”
“So, aren’t you supposed to provide me with customer service.”
“Juanita, there is this thing called keeping your word which YOU are supposed to do. You have lied to me twice in one day. I’m coming by in five minutes and giving you your money back.”
When I get there, I look at the car and immediately figure out what’s wrong. Doo-rag Dumbfuck had put the thing on A/C and made the temp 60 degrees.
“Do you see these letters over here Juanita?”
“I don’t fuckin care.”
“You better fuckin’ care because you just wasted about another 30 minutes of my life. It says A/C and what’s the temp say?”
“You actin’ like I don’t know that? I went to the University of Georgia and…”
By that time I tuned out and after a long winded monologue I caught one phrase that completely lit me up, “You think that I be Jewin’ you?”
At this point I couldn’t resist…
“No I think you be nigger-riggin your whole fuckin’ life.”
No, I didn’t really say it. But God I was thinking of it at that very moment and maybe that would have been the only way she would have understood how vile she had acted. Instead, the only words that did come out of my mouth were, “You’re a racist idiot, I’m calling the police.”
Police show up. I tell my side. She tells her side. Then the conversation gets really weird.
The policeman says, “Why don’t you just walk to the gas station and wait for someone to pick you up.”
Juanita looks at him and says, “I got an 11 week old in the car.”
We look back and sure enough there is a little baby in there. At this point I don’t know if I’m dealing with a genuine lunatic or someone with a severe case of post-partum depression. All I know is that I want the poor kid to stay warm and for her to get the fuck out of my life.
I say these words while glancing at her and the police officer, “We have been here for at least a half hour. You mean to tell me…”
“He’s got his flannels on. You know what I’m sayin’. I never would…”
“Maam. I’m going to recommend you put the baby in the police car and let me drive you there.”
“But I don’t want to leave all my stuff.”
We take a moment to think of an alternative. “I’ll tell you what.” I say… “She can take my car and stay at the gas station, and I’ll pick up the keys from you (the police officer).”
“Ummm…. Ummmm… I don’t want the liability of driving that car.”
At this point a second police officer had joined in on the festivities. It was pitch black, about 39 degrees, and Juanita the wundercunt has all of us in a state of disbelief.
“Maam we’re going to file a report. You need to get off his property. You can either do it now and walk, or you can get a ride to the gas station.”
With that Juanita finally heaved a sigh and decided to get her stuff… and her kid. “I thought you were going to help me Mr. Ralph.”
“I am. Get out.”
With that she muffled some curse words. It took her a while to get all her garbage together. In the meantime, I wrote a brief contract twice. Had her sign it, and gave her the cash in front of the officers.
After she left one of the men came back and said, “Where did you find that creature?” Creature wasn’t the word used. This is the deep South, after all.
“I don’t know. I think having a baby with no daddy would even make me a little nuts. But I bet you every dollar I gave her that she was a bitch and a fuck-up well before she became a welfare mom.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Oh well. Another night with the crazies. I’m just going to write a basic report and let that be that.”
“That’ll work. You take care of yourself.”
“You too. Don’t let these creatures get you down.”
And so ended my workday 24 hours ago…
David McDevitt is the pen name of someone who knows a lot about the used car business.
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