Image by Jay Lamping from Pixabay
Almost two years ago we had a garage fire where we lost a LOT of things. We also found out that our particular insurance plan did not cover our garage, so that was super handy. Among all of our camping gear, hunting/fishing equipment, sporting goods, and tools (which are kind of important when Hubby is a mechanic), we also lost several vehicles, including Hubby’s Jeep.
I remember when we brought home the Jeep. Hubby was so happy. He had always wanted a Jeep and this was the base for what he wanted. Miss E was just a baby then. He spent the next handful of years getting accessories, options, upgrades, and making it truly his. All of this went up in smoke.
After the fire, he said he didn’t want a Jeep again. He’d put in so much time and effort into the one we lost, he didn’t want to take on that battle again, which I understood. Then about three months ago he started sending me links, here and there, to Jeeps that are for sale. The proper amount of time has passed to mourn the loss of the red Jeep and now Hubby is on the hunt again. This brings us to last week. Hubby found a contender at a dealership 175 miles away. We had the day off and are always up for a road trip, so off we went.
Hubby had been emailing back and forth with a person from the dealership. The Jeep was a salesperson’s personal vehicle, so the price was firm (let that marinate for a minute and see if that reasoning makes sense to you). It seemed more difficult than normal to get information, like an actual walk-out-the-door number, and at one time I asked Hubby if this whole transaction seemed sketchy. He agreed it seemed off, but this dealership doesn’t sell new Jeeps so maybe it’s just because this isn’t their forte. We decide to make the drive and after a couple hours, pull up to a car dealership on a hill and see the Jeep parked by the front door. They knew we were coming, so they had the Jeep sitting there ready for us. They didn’t wash it-again odd-but maybe it had just sprinkled there or something.
After Hubby crawls underneath it to the inspect all of the things, we walk into the sales building to find someone, as the man crawling around the vehicle parked 3 feet from the front door didn’t inspire anyone inside to come out and greet us. We are sent to the person with whom Hubby had been emailing. This man gave the vibe of a disgruntled beatnik -- rocking a perfectly manicured beard -- like he had missed his opportunity to play mouth harp on the circuit, so has resigned himself to financing used cars, and hasn’t quite come to terms that his dreams are lost. He shook Hubby’s hand and didn’t acknowledge that I was also standing there. We walked out to the Jeep and he handed Hubby the keys. We opened the door and were greeted with frayed carpet, what appeared to be a dog-chewed seatbelt, what looked like duct tape residue stuck to the glovebox, and some monster mounted a phone holder directly onto the vehicle’s display screen. Inside I was just saying, “Nope-Nope-Nope,” over and over again but this isn’t my passion project, so I kept my inner-cringing-voice to myself.
Hubby slowed down to turn out of the parking lot and a tone sounded. The left turn signal was out. “That’s just a bulb, we can have that switched out,” came the depressed hipster-turned-salesman's voice from the back seat. Another tone sounded: “low tire pressure.” We continued driving and Hubby poked and prodded as he drove down the road. He jostled the manual shifter and I could tell he wasn’t falling in love. At the end of the road, we went to turn around and head back to the dealership. Hubby flipped the blinker on and low-and-behold the right turn signal was out. “Your service guys need their heads examined.” Hubby stated. Silence from the back seat.
We pulled up to the dealership and I retrieved my car keys and headed to my car. Since I was obviously invisible, I didn’t bother telling beatnik goodbye. He asked if he should take the Jeep back to service to switch out those bulbs. “Um…no,” Hubby replied. “There’s WAY too much going on with this vehicle.” We climbed back into my car and drove the 175 miles back home.
Hubby received the generic, “Thanks for stopping, help us do better” survey. After writing a three paragraph recollection of our visit to their dealership, and no response, we decided we’ll not be doing business with this particular dealership. The search continues…