I never want to be a used car salesman

1993 Honda Accord EX, originally uploaded by zlopid.

I listed the old Accord in the paper for $2,300 and now I get phone calls every day: “Hello? I’m calling about the 1993 Honda Accord EX you have listed in the paper.”

“Yep. It’s still here, still for sale.” I’m never sure what to say in response; they haven’t exactly asked any questions. The worst is when they call and have an accent, because I know it’s going to be torturous on both ends understanding each other.

Especially people with Indian accents. I can understand it better in person, but over the phone I get lost easier than a rat in a maze. “What is techall?” one woman said.

“…what?”

“What is techall?”

“um…I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Nevermind. When can I come to see?”

But the worst was a guy who called me Wednesday at work. I finally told him enough about the car that he wanted to come and see it later that day.

“The address is thirty-four Arbor…”

“thirty Harbor…”

“thirty-four…”

“Ah! Thirty-four…”

“Arbor Creek”

“Arbor? Can you spell that for me? H-A-R-B-O-R?”

“Arbor…as in trees. A-R-B-O”

“A-R-P”

“A-R-B-O”

“Aha, A-R-B-O…”

“R”

“A-R-B-O-R, gotcha, Arbor.”

“Creek…C-R-E-E-K”

“C-E-E”

“C-R”

“Oh, okay. C-R”

“then two Es, E-E”

“C-E-R-E-E”

“C-R-E-E-K”

“C-R-E-E-K”

“Drive…”

“Okay, thank you. I live in victor, what are directions?” And this is me, in my cubicle on a Wednesday morning, unable to believe that after spending an entire ten minutes to communicate three words, I am supposed to give him directions to my house. I give him the simplest directions I could, with as many numbers as possible, and agree to meet him at 4:30.

At 4:00, as I’m leaving work, he calls to ask me if he was supposed to go past 31 and 31F on his way north on 96. I pull up google maps as fast as I can and tell him that he should be going south on 96. I add that I am leaving work that moment, and I will be there to meet him in 30 minutes.

At 4:07, as I’m getting into my car, he calls to tell me that he has pulled into a parking lot near the HSBC. I have no idea where he’s talking about, as the only HSBC I know of near my house has been closed. So he agrees to wait there until I get home and can look up directions.

I get home and run up to my room, turn on my computer and look up directions for him/relay them over the phone. He should arrive in 15 minutes.

I wait…I get a snack…and then I get a phone call. “Hello. I think I’m in your driveway right now.”

“Okay, great, I’ll be right there.” Coat, keys, through the door and…there’s nobody in my driveway. I look around and there is a car parked in the driveway of the person across the street. I flip open the phone, go to received calls, and call him back (Caller ID is my savior). The figure on the hill across the street stands for a minute, then reaches into his pocket. My phone stops ringing and he picks up. “Hey, I’m across the street. If you turn around, you can see me waving.”

“Where? Oh! I see you. I’ll be right down.” He gets into his car, a rented white Chrysler PT Cruiser, and drives down their driveway and over down into our driveway.

We say hello, lament how many times he got lost on the way to see the car, look at the car from a number of angles. He asks, “Can I drive it?” I tell him that of course he can. So we both get into the car and get our seatbelts on.

He puts the key in the ignition and turns…nothing happens. He tries it again. “You…need the clutch in.”

“What?”

“With your left foot, you need to put in the clutch.”

“Oh! This is a manual?”

“Yeah.” It said so in the ad. I know because I read over every one of those overly expensive words.

“My wife doesn’t know how to drive a manual. I cannot buy this car, which is a shame, because I really liked it and I wanted to buy it, but…I cannot.”