Too much Testosterone...So little Time

If you logged onto my blog thinking you were in for some juicy news about a cougar-cub on the prowl, well I’m sorry to disappoint you- the story here is much more mundane, although you just might see some animal action if you read on…

We’re car-hunting at the moment. And hunting seems a close to appropriate word for it- it is a jungle out there in used car territory!

I’m also starting to think that the representatives selling these vehicles wouldn’t be entirely out of place wearing animal skins whilst beating their chests about how good a deal they’re doing you.

At the very least, they remind me of a pack of wild dogs chasing a scent.

I’m a big one when it comes to researching if we're about to outlay any significant amount of money. Partly because we never seem to have that kind of cash ready to go too early on in the piece; also because if I am going to hand over our hard-earned dollars, I want to make darn sure that someone else is going to work for it as well!

So I scour the motor vehicle classifieds, check out the Trading Post online, log onto the plethora of places that offer ‘realistic’ valuations on used cars, sign up for eNewsletters with the latest hot deals, and make the odd phone call to scout out the pedigreed from the mongrels before we go see who’s best in show.

But the other day, on impulse, I stopped in at a caryard I drive past on my way to work, and took a walk through the automotive graveyard (which should’ve tipped me off straight up as the whole arrangement kinda reminded me of carcasses around a kennel). There were cars in every body shape and size– sedan, hatchback, ute, 2, 4, and All-Wheel-Drives, and those funny little coupés and convertibles mostly driven by men who like to feel the wind in what hair they have left.

Anyway, not long after I entered this classic masculine domain, the dominant male in the pack came sniffing around:

"So, how can I help you today?"

(Um, I’m here to get my legs waxed, how do you think you can help me?) “Yesss, what can you tell me about this car?”

After much prowling and posturing, he proceeded to parley with me about the various pros and cons of the carcasses -I mean, cars- answered a few questions, got out a business card and then said the fatal words: “So bring your husband in with you and we’ll take it from there.”

Now if there’s ever been anything to raise my hackles, that’d be it.

I growled out a “Thankyou” and slunk back to my low-value trade-in.

See, my husband (God love him), though he possesses the XY gene that apparently automatically provides one with an encyclopaedic knowledge of all things motorised, has never been in "top gear" when it comes to the mechanical (mind you, he does bear a passing resemblance to Jeremy Clarkson in hair and height). He takes care of the basics, but is lacking a basic instinct when it comes to bargaining.

And when it comes to driving home a deal, my Beloved best take the passenger seat.

My husband squirms in said seat when I ask questions like “Is it a full-sized spare?”, “Do you have a fuel consumption comparison?”, and the good old conversation starter (or stopper, depending on the answer) “Why’s it for sale?”

And my Beloved is well and truly reaching for the door handle when it comes to fine-tuning; “So that’s with all the mats and plastics and tint included, yes?”

Therefore my husband knows if anyone in any way suggests that I bring him in to seal a deal, the writing's on the wall- and it's an obituary at that.

Nosirree, that certain car dealer might be top dog when it comes to his particular pack, but he found out it can be a real bitch to bargain with the one actually holding the purse strings.

So maybe there was the world’s best car deal waiting for me in that pokey little yard I still go past on an almost daily basis, but damned if I’ll be driving anything out of there.

And it looks like the hunt is to be continued…

Jx
©2009