Like a recently purchased handgun, or a new affair, there's just something about a suit that puts a spring in your step.
I took a picture of myself wearing it, reflected in the chrome of an old-timey car.
See, we have this display piece car down at the used lot.
It's more like a stagecoach without the horses. One of those cars.
Model T, probably.
Thought I'd capture myself in my new suit in the headlight.
Try to look stylish.
Being stylish has a lot to do with being photographed near old shit.
You don't show any respect for the old shit, mind you.
You just get your picture taken near it.
Like a band doing their photo shoot in a cemetery.
Anyway, the pic turned out blurry, so I'm not going to bother uploading it.
That takes steps.
Tweeting it, however, was relatively painless, so you can look at it over there if you're desperate enough for new photos of me.
Oh! I can embed the tweet right in here.
I'll be doing that far more often now.
$=suits from Sears outlet store=confidence=sexy. twitter.com/paulwarford/st…
— Paul Warford (@paulwarford) May 15, 2013
Look, I can ask about throwing in the winter tires, but I don't know what answer my manager will give me.
Selling cars from the salesman's perspective is exactly like TV and nothing like TV.
When I mentioned in my interview that I had no sales experience, I really meant it.
Now, I suppose I do.
That being said, I would still hesitate to call myself a salesman.
I'm more like...
...I feel kinda like a tour guide sometimes.
Or, if I do the job well, I'm like a tour guide.
You know when you take a trip to Punta Cana, and there's that one resort employee who stands out?
"Punta Cana was fuckin' awesome, bud!
There was this dude, what was his name?"
"Enrique!Yeah! Enrique was fuckin' awesome, man.
Every time my drink was empty, Enrique was right there on the edge of the pool to fill it.
We told him that we were looking to go zip-lining without all of the safety harness bullshit, and he was like, 'Okay sir, we do that for you.'"
Everyone remembers him fondly, even though the girlfriends did find him 'a little touchy-feely'.
Nevertheless, Enrique will come up every time the trip is mentioned.
Because Enrique was accommodating.
If I'm doing my job properly, I have come to discover, I'm Enrique.
I have no real clout at the resort.
I don't know where the shrimp comes from, or whether or not it'll give you food poisoning, but I can get some delivered to your room.
All I am is a guy who works here. I just happen to be your guy.
More like concierge than a tour guide, really.
Oh right. TV.
I really do have to go see my manager.
You want the mats and stupid tonneau cover thingy included?
Can I do that?
I dunno. My manager will tell me.
90% of the time, when a car salesman tells you they have to ask their manager, they really mean that.
Just like TV.
However, unlike TV, we're not...I don't know what.
We're not shysters.
We're not - I'm not, anyway - out to fuck yourself and your wife from here to the gas station.
People are always trying to catch me on this hidden fee or that hidden fee.
That 'hidden fee' shit is in the past.
This isn't the 80s.
The cars are online. The prices are online.
The sticker price is the sticker price.
It's not like you pick out a sweater at Eddie Bauer, and while in line at the checkout you whisper to your wife, "I wonder what kind of a mark-up wool tax they stick on this fucker."
Do you? Maybe you do.
There's no hidden anything.
Sure, the price can be manipulated, but the margins for this are not as great as you'd think, and the parameters for them are pretty standard across the board.
Financing a Kia at a dealership in St. John's and a dealership in Ontario will be within dollars of each other.
No one's out to get you.
Except if we're talking used cars.
That's a different story.
I'll fuck a family out of their mortgage on a used car, if I can.
This post brought to you by Punta Cana Tourism.
And remember: If you have to get hepatitis, contract it in Punta Cana.