Three Shades of Black

A while back I posted about test driving a car which led to much test driving of other cars.

These car salesmen are an interesting bunch.

I’m reflecting on the salesman that threw his hands up in the air at me and screamed “Oh my God!” when I said I wasn’t sure I wanted the car we were discussing.  I had been with him for all of 45 minutes, driven two vehicles and had to point out to him that I wasn’t his wife and that I hope he doesn’t talk to her like that.  I then told my husband that we were leaving.  I am sure in addition to seeing me fly out the door he might have recognised that his commission also grew wings.  Hope you took a note to self there asshole.

Then there was one who’s real name was Andrew but said to be called Chopstick because that’s what his colleagues call him.  Thinking not so politically correct there people.

And finally to my man Cane.  Bless.  I spent the majority of my time on this journey of exploration with Cane.  We drove many cars.  Sometimes he let The Artist and I take them on our own for a spin.  Trusting that one.  Whilst I was undecided on the actual vehicle I was certain about colour.  Many many discussions here.  And simple as a pimple.  Black on the inside and black on the outside.  Not rocket science.  So finally when a decision had been made and I sent Harvey Specter The Artist in to negotiate I was delighted to receive a call to say there was one exactly like I wanted, ready to go, on the floor!  And Cane said to tell me it was Carbon Black!  Now, if I am a woman who doesn’t know her stuff, I squeal with delight and do a “woot woot”  jig around the office.

But, my friends, an ice cold fist grabbed my heart.  I knew not of this Carbon Black….. I knew of Jet Black and Sapphire Black.  So I asked, what is this Carbon Black you speak of?  The Artist takes pause, consults with our Cane and says that Cane says to tell me it might have a blue tinge in the sun.  Screaming ensues once Mr Google Images is consulted.  I tell The Artist to step away from the shonky car salesman that tried to sell me a BLUE car instead of a BLACK car.  I mean seriously.  The only thing that I am sorry to have short circuited is the moment when he proudly took me to my new blue car that was supposed to be black.  You have to wonder what he thought would happen and how he was possibly planning on successfully walking away from that.  Bad boy Cane.  Bad boy!

So, anyhoozala, The Artist ends up (through forces of the universe over which Cane has no control) doing the deal with one of the managers and we are set to get a real black car in about two months.  Which brings us to Tuesday of this week. Our Cane calls me (yes, for some unknown reason we are back to dealing with colour blind Cane).  I ask clearly if he is calling me to tell me that my vehicle is ready (I mean seriously, why else would he call me?).  He tells me yes it is and then I advise him that he should call The Artist to discuss financey things that he needs to do in order for me to take delivery.  Sweeeet.  He also asks about trading my current car and I tell him again, that The Artist is his man.  He confirms The Artist’s mobile number.  We say goodbye.  So I wait an hour and then I don’t hear from The Artist.  So I send the “Whassup with my car?” text.  The Artist does not know what I am talking about.  Bit of argy bargy when we get home.  I tell him that if he is planning a surprise he shouldn’t because I still have to smack Cane around the head over the blue black thing when I get the black car.

Yesterday The Artist calls Cane.  Yes, he calls him.  Cane giggles and says he thinks that I am overexcited to get the car and that he didn’t say the car was ready.  In fact, as it turns out, the car has not cleared customs yet.  I’m putting it out there that people should not do drugs at work.  Just don’t.  And if you do, don’t call me and tell me my car is ready when it’s still sitting on the dock at the bay.  You are taking your life in your hands.  Just saying.

The Artist is of course feeding off this and maintaining that I got the wrong end of the stick – because I am prone to getting over excited.  Yeah right – the wrong end of the stick – more like the front end of a snort of cocaine going up Cane’s nose.  And speaking of sticks, the only stick I’m thinking of is the one I would like to clobber Cane with.

Stay tuned peeps.  Cane seems to be the gift that keeps on giving.

Love and light

Lauren xxx

Linking up with the crew over at With Some Grace for #FYBF

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5 comments

  1. Me

    I can totally understand your impatience – I think I would have stuck my hand down the phone and quietly throttled Cane and his work colleagues would have been amazed to see him just falling to the floor – strangled !!
    I hope you don’t have to wait too long for your car to get off the dock at the bay !
    Have a great weekend.
    Me

  2. Leanne Winter

    Oh Lauren, I do hope your black car arrives soon without any more frustrations. I don’t want to get all feminist here, but it does seem to be that car salesmen give women the run-around far more than men. Am I wrong?

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