Untitled

"What'll it take to get you in one of these babies today?"

I chose to be literal. "Twenty four thousand cash."

The guy blinked like he'd never heard this answer before. Maybe he hadn't.

"Uh ... we do have financing plans available..." Somehow, I had knocked him out of his cheap grease accent. He took off his shiny sunglasses and wiped them with his pink & chartreuse tie. This simple gesture transformed him back to his real self: middle class white kid from the burbs. I decided to send him a further step back.

"I don't do credit." I announced.

"Like, uh, you don't have a card?"

"Don't DO credit..."

"Well, we're here to help you," he said, stirring his coffee with a swizzlestick.

"If you were really here to help me, you'd take that clunker in trade, and sell me the truck for twelve thousand. You'll find that I'm also realistic - you get twenty-four, and go home happy. Is it a deal - yes or no?"

His eyes opened wide and he twiddled the swizzle stick nervously, as though his attention to it would draw my attention off him.

"Let me go talk..." he began.

"If you leave me now, its a no," I interrupted quickly, sensing my winning position by his posture.

"I have to OK it with the manager sir," he stammered.

"I work for a living, son. No need to call me sir. Is that your manager on his way out right now?" I asked.