Today’s blog is going to be about two very important things; cars and graduation parties. Neither go together, unless you get a car for your graduation, which wasn’t at all the case here, but I’m going to make them work. Like Catherine Willows always says, “I’m making it work.” I live by that. If it’s good enough for Catherine Willows, it’s good enough for Cassadee Willows.
As promised, I am updating you on Aunt Bev’s car situation. I know it’s taken me awhile, but I assure you it wasn’t because I was being lazy. Oh no, this whole thing is turning into at least three sagas and a “back-in-my-day” story. Mostly because every time we go to the car lot, Aunt Bev can’t get over the sticker shock on a car and keeps telling me that fifteen years ago, which was when she bought her last car, they were much cheaper. Since it’s been fifteen years, sticker shock is understandable.
Since the last time I had written about the adventures of Aunt Bev and car shopping, we had gone back to the same dealership twice. I know I didn’t write about the last time we had gone, and I apologize, but there isn’t really a lot to tell. Basically, all you need to know is that Aunt Bev has a car in mind that she wants, but the dealership is playing shady-shady and telling her she can get the car she wants, but then conveniently are not able to find any that car, therefore, they try to up-sell her another one. Let me explain in full.
Aunt Bev found a car she likes, but the interior is ugly. I don’t mean a little ugly, I mean holy effing shoot is it ugly. Who in the heck would make something this ugly and think it was okay? How is this much ugly legal? The car is somewhat expensive, so if she’s going to pay that much for the car, she obviously doesn’t want an ugly interior. The dealership assured her that the car she wanted came in either six or eight, I can’t remember, different interior colors. It would be no problem getting her another interior. Then, suddenly, this was a huge problem.
So, to offset that, they took her out and started showing her cars on the lot that they had in the color she liked. That was fine, only these cars were a few thousand more because they had a ton of features she didn’t want or need. This just confused her more, and before we knew it the manager was by our side telling us he was going to get the keys so she could take that car out to lunch and she and I could discuss her buying it. She turned him down.
They also played the game where they told us they’d be getting more cars in, so when they did, they’d call her and let her know if they got one in in the color she liked, since they didn’t know what they were getting in. She asked when they would be getting the cars in and they told her they were unsure. A little while later they casually mentioned the cars would be in either the following day, or the day after that. Just a short while after that, when she refused to take the car to lunch, they told her the new cars would be in later that day. She told them to call her when they came in. They said they would. It was several weeks later when they did, and surprise, no cars in the color she wanted. We were shocked. And by shocked, I mean we were only shocked he actually called.
My mom and I can tell Aunt Bev is not excited about the car. The only reason she wants it is because of the warranty. The dealership itself is offering a lifetime warranty on the car, which seems great, but the thing is, if they go out of business, there goes the warranty. Also, if they don’t fix something to her liking, she can’t take the car anywhere else and actually get it fixed because that voids the warranty. As shady as they are being about selling her a car, I don’t think I’d be very trustworthy in them fixing it. After everything I’ve seen from them, I really don’t want to buy from them.
Aunt Bev and I went down the road and looked at Hondas. I just want you all to know that if I have to buy a new car, I know what I want and I am prepared. I feel badly, though, that Aunt Bev needs a car and will probably end up with one she’s not excited about because she can’t get over the warranty. Plus, my mom and I both agree, especially after looking at other cars, that the car is overpriced by a good eight thousand dollars, but Aunt Bev just sees the warranty. We love her and want her to have the right car.
Another thing that is throwing Aunt Bev for a curve ball is that they gave her one price at first, and then she ended up with a totally different, much higher price the next time she came back. The car wasn’t even equal. The first car she priced had a navigation system and everything. The next one was a step down from that and cost more. They tried to tell her that it was some deal they had going on the cars with the navigation systems, and when she asked them about the deal, saying that would be the car she wanted, they said they couldn’t get any more in. The whole thing = shady.
As we were sitting there the last time, my mom happened to bring up that there were no safety ratings for the car Aunt Bev wanted in the magazine that publishes safety ratings. I’m sorry, but I have no idea what that magazine is called. I had also looked online for the safety ratings, since I had noticed that the spot where the safety ratings should be was blank on that car. This was brought up to the salesman, and he swore up and down again that the car had the top safety ratings out of any car in its class. To that I told him that I didn’t want to be a Glum Glenda, but I was going to ask him to prove it. He could not prove it. He could not give us anything showing us safety ratings, which, again, shady.
Another thing about this salesman was that he was also the one who kept trying to call Aunt Bev over and over again, and when he couldn’t get her, he called my mom. Now, suddenly, after the last time he was there, he hesitated calling her, and then when he did, was rude to her. This is weird and completely uncalled for.
Aunt Bev is now so confused that she’s considering trying to get the bottom of her car welded since she doesn’t like any of the new ones. The whole bottom has a huge hole in it, and I’m not sure how she’s going to do it, but I’m sure it’s maybe possible. I think it’s sad that she’s so upset with these car salesmen that she’s considering putting all this money into trying to weld her car together when it’s fifteen years old.
I’m sure before she makes her decision that we will be back at the dealership at least three more times, which is fine by me, because they have the best coffee ever. I feel like now I’m just going for the coffee, because every time we go they pull something new on us. In reality, I go to be Aunt Bev’s second set of eyes and ears. Every time, she leaves frustrated.
Last time, however, I think we finally managed to frustrate the salesman who was recently frustrating her. This salesman was an ex-marine, and when I say he was anal, I don’t think that covers it. Now, I have absolutely nothing against ex-marines or marines in general. In fact, I am so very grateful for them and the fact that they give their lives for our country and for our safety. I have a friend that always told me he loved marines until he met them. I’m sure this isn’t the case with most marines, but this guy is the first ex-marine I’ve met that made me understand why he always said that. For goodness sakes, this guy stapled his cough drops shut, then would open the bag by removing said staple with his hands, take one out, and re-staple it. It had a zipper top. Ah, extra work. But I respect it.
Somehow, while we were sitting there, we started to notice that he was getting slightly annoyed that we didn’t just want to take one of the more expensive cars that she didn’t want on the lot. If there’s one thing Aunt Bev is, it’s not a pushover. She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to sit there and make him search for twenty different cars until she gets what she likes. Because of this, at one point it came up that it probably seemed like we weren’t actually there to buy a car, just to annoy him.
This was the time when I decided to reveal that we were secret shoppers, and really we were just there to keep coming back and test his temper. He laughed and walked away. Unfortunately for him, we could tell he was annoyed and all agreed we had met our daily quota for annoying people that day. We were a little delighted considering how stressful this whole process had turned out to be.
I don’t think it helped that not long after that, my mom left, leaving Aunt Bev and me to our own devices. It was then that I decided to bring something up with him that I had always wondered, not because I could, but because he was the perfect person to ask this question to. Let me explain.
Have you ever watched a television show and noticed that, in certain shows, everyone drives the same car and they are sure to show you what the brand of car everyone is driving is? And, have you ever noticed how, in every episode, all the cars seem to be different models and colors of the same brand of car, except for the main characters' cars? Have you also ever wondered how all of that works? Since the maker of the cars is obviously sponsoring the show, I would assume they would give the cars to the show for free, however, how is that cost offset? As many cars that are used in television shows, that has to be offset somehow.
I always have wondered all of this things. People, I have too much time on my hands, but don't I ever know it. In this particular case, the night before we had gone car shopping I had coincidentally happened upon a question on the blog that is kept by the creator of the show Leverage, having to do with exactly that. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the show, but because of the premise, they use a lot of cars in that show, and they’re almost always different ones but all made by Hyundai. Also, in more episodes than not, one or more cars end up wrecked or blown up, meaning obviously the maker of the car would not be getting that car back. On the blog, it was revealed that Hyundai was “good friends” of the show and provided them with all the cars free of charge. We were shopping for a car at Hyundai. I could not pass up this opportunity.
I slithered my way slowly over to the car salesman while Aunt Bev was checking out another car, and I told him there was something I always wanted to know. He was willing to play ball, so I asked him that, when a certain make of a car is used in a show, and the maker of the car provides these cars free of charge to the show, only to have them wrecked or blown up on a consistent basis, how the maker would recuperate the cost on that. He looked at me weird for a moment, so I asked him if he thought they would do so by charging a little more to the buyer to offset the cost of the wrecked cars. He shrugged and said he supposed they would.
That’s when I really hit him with the one two punch, and told him all about the show Leverage, and how Hyundai was consistently giving them cars that got blown up. Then, I nicely asked him if that’s why the model my Aunt was looking at was priced around eight thousand higher than comparable cars by other auto makers. He got kind of mad and walked away. I felt I had my answer, and that I had done my job of irking a fellow irker for the day.
To be honest, I hadn’t meant anything by it, but I was curious. Because I may also need a car, my mom and I have been researching cars, and we can’t figure out what the model she’s looking at has that would price it so far above other cars who actually have their safety ratings out and published for all to see. There were several cars that we had habitually tested better in previous years to Hyundais, and were still much lower priced than the car she was looking at.
I thought I was asking an honest, valid question. Now that I'm telling you this story, I see how he would have thought I was being a facetious jerk. At the time I didn’t realize it, so I do apologize to the guy, but honestly, it was a real question. Sorry it pissed you off, but maybe that should tell us something? Just wondering / saying.
Because I don’t want to spend this blog acting like a facetious jerk, I thought I would switch it on over to something more fun, like graduation parties for someone you don’t even know. Oh yes, I went there. And I’m sure at least one of my readers has gone there this year, too, because you know how it is. Someone’s your neighbor, their kid, who hides in the house and you’ve never, ever talked to, is graduating, they invite you. You see free food, and BAM! You're there.
But in all seriousness, that was the situation, however, we didn’t go for the free food. The neighbor that invited us is a God send. This winter, when my grandma was sick, and then passed away, he was kind enough to dig out our driveway for us so we didn’t have to worry about it. This was so appreciated, because we were already stretched so thin, and this all happened when we had around eighteen inches of snow consistently for a few weeks. We felt we needed to go, and also we got him something to thank him for being so incredible.
After arriving and meeting his son for the first time since he was eight and came trick or treating at our house, but never said so much as a hi, our neighbor told his son that we were just saying how we had never, ever talked to him, even though we lived across the street from him for all these years. How did he respond? He shrugged and walked away. By the end of the night, we had heard him talk but still hadn’t talked to him. How does that much fail / win happen at the same time?
Please understand that I was sick as a dog over that weekend, but I chose to go to the party anyway. I was past being contagious, and really just had a crappy cold, so, to be on the safe side, I packed hand sanitizer and made it my best friend. I really didn’t sneeze or anything while I was there, just felt crappy and wasn’t much fun. I was actually begrudging when it came to going, and only went because it was across the street and my mom didn’t want to go alone. I learned one thing by going, though. Our neighbors are exponentially more fun than I gave them credit for.
Let me just start by explaining that the mom of the graduation boy is an odd, odd lady. At one time she really liked us, and then all of a sudden she didn’t talk to us. We didn’t know if it was just because we didn’t see her a lot, or if she didn’t like us, but we just kind of moved on, because her husband, God send neighbor, liked us.
As soon as we got to the party, she was really happy to see us and invited us on over. She ended up being really nice and really fun, much more nice and fun than we could remember her being twelve years ago, which is pretty much the last time she talked to us. At one point in the night we were sitting there when she ever so quietly snuck up behind the teenagers, who were all seated at another table, sprayed them all with silly string, and then ran. It was awesome.
At one point in the night she even brought the ponies over to visit. These ponies were not regular ponies, but miniature ponies. Having been around horses all of my life, I have to say that I love me some miniature ponies. They have cute little attitudes. To make this set of miniatures more fun, the baby was taller than the mommy pony, which gave the mommy pony even more an attitude, which I loved and respected her for.
During the night, I found myself stuck in between two groups of people. I was being conversed to by the older people, which were mostly the neighbors on all sides of us that were also invited to the party. Then, the teenagers also talked to me. I was that odd middle age that kind of grooved with everyone. I liked it, however, the one other kid who was there and also in the middle age category, did not. He sat at the adult table and never said a word. When I asked one of our neighbors about him, thinking maybe I could go cheer up said kid, providing he was like that because he was just quiet and wasn’t having the worst day ever, the response I got was, “Oh, that’s Dale. He’s always like that.” I didn’t think cheering him up would work.
While at the adults' table, the subject of God send neighbor came up. Everyone in the neighborhood started talking about how well he keeps his grass up. They have a fifty plus acre farm, and this man is also does cardiac catheterizations at the local hospital, but rain, shine, night or day, literally, this man is out there getting his lawn mowed. It is never out of place no matter when or in what weather conditions he has to work. Instead of deciding he was the best neighbor ever, which he is, the consensus ended up being that he was an overachiever that made the neighborhood look bad. This is also true, although it was meant completely lightheartedly and everyone agreed they wished they had half the energy he did. This was all discussed while we sat just feet from him in his own yard. Yep, I like my neighbors so much more now.
I then made my rounds to the young crowd, where I got myself tattooed up. Oh, don’t get all excited, they were fake tattoos. The mother of the graduate is the coolest mom ever when it came to planning parties. She had silly string, bubbles, and fake tattoos. By the time I was done hanging out with them, I was tattooed up like a biker babe. Here, let me show you. And I apologize ahead of time for the bad resolution on the pictures. They were sparkly and I took the pictures with my Blackberry. Sorry I failed you all.
I could totally pass as a bad as biker chick, right? What do you mean, no? Glitter bugs and cupcakes aren’t enough to make me a biker chick? Say what? Well, fine! I’ll make my own biker gang and call them the Glittery Cupcakes. That should earn me some serious street cred with Hells Angels. They do their annual ride right through the town down the road, so I’ll just bring this up with them...
Okay, maybe I won’t.
The party was a lovely party, on a lovely, cool day, with the sun shining and everyone enjoying themselves. Then, Pennsylvania weather decided to rear its ugly head. I don’t know how much you all know about Pennsylvania weather, but unless you live here, I would imagine nothing. We get crazy ass weather. It can be sunny and eighty degrees one minute, and in the matter of two or three minutes, the temperature can drop into the sixties, it can become pitched black out and start to storm. This is not at all unusual for our weather. Neither are sixty degree days in January, or snow into May. But I digress.
The news forecasters were split fifty fifty on if it was going to storm or not. Only half of them were right, and they were all right the next day when they looked back on it. In the matter of less than a minute, things got dark and the winds got so heavy that things were flying everywhere. The wind had been completely still all day, now, all of a sudden, people are fighting to hold the one large tent down as it started to come undone from the stakes in the ground. That’s how strong the wind was.
It didn’t take long for mass panic to ensue. The mother of the graduate started yelling for everyone to grab stuff and move it to the garage. People were grabbing things from every direction; food, chairs, some were holding down tents, others were going for the plates and other accessories. Some were eating casually. Wait, what?
There he was, our lovely neighbor, Joe. Joe is awesome and hilarious. As everyone is running all over the place, there is Joe, paper plate in hand, standing in the middle of the yard, slowly eating his chicken with a fork just as if he were sitting in front of his television set, calm as could be. Astounded, yet intrigued by this, I stopped for a moment and asked him what he was doing. He told me, very calmly, that the weather would pass. In his ripe age between sixty and seventy, he seemed very calm and all knowing in this. This was easily one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Mass panic, people about, and him, right in the middle of the open yard, eating. Picture it. I promise you won’t be disappointed.
The weather did not pass. I later found out that my mom, just moments before me, had stopped and asked him the same thing with the same answer. Too funny.
When the weather turned, we decided to walk home since I really didn’t need to get rained on, on top of being sick. I realize it’s not the rain that makes you sick, but it surely couldn’t help. We just made it in the door when it poured down rain. It did this for the rest of the night. Sorry, Joe, but even in your wisest of days, you are still no better at predicting the weather than our very own weather forecasters.
And let me just add, our forecasters only know the weather the day after it happened. Their track record for knowing the weather is basically non existent. Flies; they can tell the weather better by biting you to announce the rain. Ah, Pennsylvania. There is never anything but a dull day here, except when it comes to weather.
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