Clean floormats have to count for something

I purchased my brand-new car  to salvage my dignity and on behalf of the credit union I bank at five days ago. The new-car smell is oozing from her pores. There's nary a goldfish cracker crumb in the seams. She's shiny and pristine and parked a safe four feet on all sides from any other vehicle.

So how in the world did she attract this card? HOW DARE that little mustached teenager earning less than minimum wage violate her virgin exterior with this offer to haul her away whether she starts or not. WHETHER SHE STARTS? There's 112 miles on her, not 100,000!

Why the insults? Why the blame? Why blatantly call her a JUNK CAR when she's only been hanging out on the curb for a few days. Sure she was just a few yards away from lots of other dilapidated modes of transport, including one Big Red who was sent by her worn-out mother to a place where she can hobble along and clank and let her engine grind on and on half-heartedly with other cars just like her.

(It's OK, she's happier there. She took two ice scrapers and a Lego guy missing a head with her as memento of our adventures together. She can roam the used car lot freely with the other cars with seatbelts that never retract. We promised to keep memories alive of that time my dad got frostbite helping me change a flat tire in below-zero temps in January and how we will get that kid who stole the GPS from the console...one day!)

Big Red was so close to junk, but she definitely wasn't trash. And this car (Darth Vader? Death Star? The Black Pearl? She hasn't been christened yet) is far from all of that. She shall hold her remote-entry fob high and let her headlights dim automatically, slowly -- a stare-down to the metal scrappers who dare to question the rev of her engine, the trunk untouched by Trader Joe's recycled brown bags, the power seats with lumbar support.

You can leave your taunting advertisements, you junk-car dogs. This lady's calling card hasn't even been unwrapped from the plastic yet.

Comments

[wheel balancing machine]

What a crappy experience. Sorry you had to go through that. And after all that nonsense, he only put a donut on? Hmph. Thanks for nothing, Russian jackass guy.