Same donation plea applies here.. http://PanCAN.kintera.org/psomaha11/awatson
I am going to keep a running list here of the comments I receive throughout the day. I am 27 weeks pregnant which apparently is an open invitation for people to comment just ridiculously rude, f'd up comments. So here we go.
"Wow you look ready!! You sure you aren't having twins?"
--after another pregnant lady brought her attention to how rude this comment actually was she came over to apologize: "I'm sorry if I said anything to offend you, I feel like I just put my foot in my mouth"
--What I wanted to say: Yeah I have no idea why you think asking someone if they were sure they weren't having twins would be offensive.. dumb ass.
--Instead I said in a rather abrupt tone: Yeah, don't ever say that to a pregnant person.
"You just keep on growing!"
"Well Allison we just got you some exercise!" (followed by a slap on the back) - in reference to having to walk down 12 flights of stairs for a fire alarm.
"Man you have really grown a lot since I last saw you"
me - wow, yes thank you for pointing that out (sacastically)
man after 15 sec pause - but when I looked at you from the back I couldn't even tell!
"Looks like you just keep growing the family" - large rounding stomach gesture with the hands
"CONGRATULATIONS (shouting) on being pregnant. I didn't want to say anything until I was for sure." (I am 27 weeks along mind you.)
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Spin Crazy
Soo... here's the deal. I had this draft of a blog from awhile ago that I thought I would finish and post for everyone to read. But here is the catch. I am walking in the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network PurpleStride walk to raise funds for advancing research and patient advocacy in memory of my Dad, Jeff Werner. So you read this.. I provide you some entertainment, you strongly consider donating to my cause. In case you are sold before even reading, here is the link to my page..
http://PanCAN.kintera.org/psomaha11/awatson
Let the story begin..
There is a spin class that I sometimes attend and I always wonder why. It is taught by a man that makes me look like a legal dwarf who once played professional basketball in Europe. This spin class is taught down at the gym that is in the same building that I work. It is free for employees and has regularly published of aerobic classes. This class however is not on the published list. Anyone can attend but you have to be part of the elite group of crazies that are on the inside scoop.
Now from my previous postings you know that I have been to my fair share of spinning classes and for the most part they are a great way to get your sweat on with a nice degree of variety. This particular class does allow you to get your sweat on but provides no variety. Additionally there is a scary giant screaming at you the entire time. Here is how a typical class goes... (please try to keep in mind everything is being screamed above very, very loud hard core rap music that even us rap lovers have never heard).
--LET'S START OUT ON A FLAT SURFACE
(30 SECONDS GO BY)
--STAND UP AND SPRINT!!!! FASTER, FASTER, FASTER
--SIT DOWN (this means you can stop sprinting)
--THIS IS NOT A BREAK AND THAT LAST SPRINT WAS JUST OK. I WANT TO SEE BETTER
--STAND UP AND SPRINT!!! COME ON FASTER, I SEE YOU SLACKING IN THE BACK ROW, FASTER!
--SIT DOWN.... BETTER... AGAIN
--SPRINT! LLEEETTTSSSS GOOOOO! COME ON!
- SIT DOWN, TWO CLICKS TO THE RIGHT (harder resistance)
--STAND UP AND SPRINT! DON'T YOU DARE SLOW DOWN.. DON'T YOU DARE!
--SIT DOWN, HIT YOUR MATS (mats means it is time for abs)
--PLANKS, GO!... DON'T YOU DROP IT, DON'T YOU DARE DROP IT, I SEE YOU BACK THERE PICK IT UP (3 minutes have gone by).. ALMOST THERE... 30 SECONDS.. 15 SECONDS.. 5 SECONDS.. BONUS ROUND!!! HOLD IT... HOLD IT.. YOU CAN THANK ME LATER..OK.
--BACK ON YOUR BIKE.. I'M WAITING FOR YOU! NO SLACKING GET BACK ON THAT BIKE! NOW, NOW, NOW!
--GIVE ME A HILL.. YOU (pointed at someone in the class) PUT ON MORE HILL, YOU.. PUT ON MORE HILL.. DON'T TRY TO FOOL ME BY GOING SLOW I KNOW THAT TRICK.
--STAND UP AND SPRINT... FASTER, FASTER, FASTER.. NO BULLSHITTING ME RIGHT NOW.
--SIT... THAT WAS SHIT... IF I DON'T SEE YOU GOING FASTER WE WILL DO MORE
--STAND UP AND SPRINT... COME ON! GO FASTER.. I SAID FAASSTTTEERR!
At the end of the class it is kind of crazy people actually thank this dude. I felt a little pressured to do so as well so I had to thank him. I mean in real life would you thank someone for screaming at you for a hour to do crazy shit? Insane I tell you. Insane.
**Hope you got a little laugh.. here is the link again for making that donation (smile). Thank you so much for your support in advance!!
http://PanCAN.kintera.org/psomaha11/awatson
http://PanCAN.kintera.org/psomaha11/awatson
Let the story begin..
There is a spin class that I sometimes attend and I always wonder why. It is taught by a man that makes me look like a legal dwarf who once played professional basketball in Europe. This spin class is taught down at the gym that is in the same building that I work. It is free for employees and has regularly published of aerobic classes. This class however is not on the published list. Anyone can attend but you have to be part of the elite group of crazies that are on the inside scoop.
Now from my previous postings you know that I have been to my fair share of spinning classes and for the most part they are a great way to get your sweat on with a nice degree of variety. This particular class does allow you to get your sweat on but provides no variety. Additionally there is a scary giant screaming at you the entire time. Here is how a typical class goes... (please try to keep in mind everything is being screamed above very, very loud hard core rap music that even us rap lovers have never heard).
--LET'S START OUT ON A FLAT SURFACE
(30 SECONDS GO BY)
--STAND UP AND SPRINT!!!! FASTER, FASTER, FASTER
--SIT DOWN (this means you can stop sprinting)
--THIS IS NOT A BREAK AND THAT LAST SPRINT WAS JUST OK. I WANT TO SEE BETTER
--STAND UP AND SPRINT!!! COME ON FASTER, I SEE YOU SLACKING IN THE BACK ROW, FASTER!
--SIT DOWN.... BETTER... AGAIN
--SPRINT! LLEEETTTSSSS GOOOOO! COME ON!
- SIT DOWN, TWO CLICKS TO THE RIGHT (harder resistance)
--STAND UP AND SPRINT! DON'T YOU DARE SLOW DOWN.. DON'T YOU DARE!
--SIT DOWN, HIT YOUR MATS (mats means it is time for abs)
--PLANKS, GO!... DON'T YOU DROP IT, DON'T YOU DARE DROP IT, I SEE YOU BACK THERE PICK IT UP (3 minutes have gone by).. ALMOST THERE... 30 SECONDS.. 15 SECONDS.. 5 SECONDS.. BONUS ROUND!!! HOLD IT... HOLD IT.. YOU CAN THANK ME LATER..OK.
--BACK ON YOUR BIKE.. I'M WAITING FOR YOU! NO SLACKING GET BACK ON THAT BIKE! NOW, NOW, NOW!
--GIVE ME A HILL.. YOU (pointed at someone in the class) PUT ON MORE HILL, YOU.. PUT ON MORE HILL.. DON'T TRY TO FOOL ME BY GOING SLOW I KNOW THAT TRICK.
--STAND UP AND SPRINT... FASTER, FASTER, FASTER.. NO BULLSHITTING ME RIGHT NOW.
--SIT... THAT WAS SHIT... IF I DON'T SEE YOU GOING FASTER WE WILL DO MORE
--STAND UP AND SPRINT... COME ON! GO FASTER.. I SAID FAASSTTTEERR!
At the end of the class it is kind of crazy people actually thank this dude. I felt a little pressured to do so as well so I had to thank him. I mean in real life would you thank someone for screaming at you for a hour to do crazy shit? Insane I tell you. Insane.
**Hope you got a little laugh.. here is the link again for making that donation (smile). Thank you so much for your support in advance!!
http://PanCAN.kintera.org/psomaha11/awatson
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Cone Head Puker
This morning I got out the shower only to find my dog standing by the bedroom door gagging. I naturally screamed at him and then catapulted myself down the stairs all the while holding a towel over his mouth, which is no small task when the dog has a fing cone on his head the whole time praying he wouldn't yack in the house. As I try to open the door he chops me at the knees with his cone in an attempt to try to get out of the door that is not even unlocked yet. I finally open the door to a three degrees gush of air and consider myself victorious that I do not have to clean up dog puke. I was starting to get a little cold because I had only taken the time to throw on a pair of thongs, bra, and camisole.. not exactly three degree winter apparel. Regardless of the lack of clothing I decide to just wait it out downstairs since I figured he was pretty close to letting the yack fly when we were up in the bedroom. Five minutes pass, then another five minutes, and then I decide that this fing dog is making me late so I look at the window and the bastard is no where in sight. I of course run to the backdoor (mind you what I am wearing) and proceed to scream threats and obscenities at him. Much to my dismay I realize the asshole is not making an appearance and all I can think about is that I am going to have to hurdle out into the snow with only my underwear and camisole on to save him for the most certain death of meeting a car. I open the door to scream some more, oh yeah I forgot to mention it is 6:15am, with no response. So I dash upstairs to go put some pants on since my rational mind takes over that at 3 degrees I am not going to last long dashing around my yard trying to reign in my 90 pounder. Just as soon as I rip my sweat pants on I hear something in the backyard. I turn off the lights in my bedroom just in time to see that big bastard came dashing back around the side of the house and straight up to the backdoor no doubt wondering where the hell I was to let him in. I run back downstairs to give him a piece of my mind and am so pissed that I yell at him through the door before I deem it is time for him to come back into the warm house, yeah the neighbors think I'm normal. He barges in with his ENTIRE cone head FULL of snow. Like he took the fing cone and used it as a fing shovel across our entire backyard. Snow proceeds to make a victory lap around the kitchen until I reign him on the rug in front of the backdoor where I take the once puke catcher towel and use it to grab handfuls of snow out of his cone. (The entire time I am cussing at him of course.) He prances behind me upstairs catching his cone on everything which causes huge scraping noises. Mind you my 2-yr old is still sleeping and I want her to keep on sleeping however fat chance in hell when the hellion to my left is causing a sound that basically resembles beating a hammer on each rail up the stairs. He jump on the bed, then jumps down... I look at him and he starts to gag again.
I told him F NO! He could puke in the bathroom for all I care but if he yacked on the carpet or on the bed I was giving him away. Needless to say he kept it down but also needless to say here comes my kid staggering down the hall towards my room due to all the ruckus. He goes to sniff her and instead basically snow plows her over with his cone since his cone is frozen stiff and does not bend with the impact of her body.
This causes her to cry and me to scream at him some more. I finally get her to calm down and tell him to get back up on the bed since I was not taking him outside again wherein he leaps for the bed, catches my big toe in his cone and practically rips it off. While I am grabbing my toe in pain I see my daughter fling herself on the pillows so as to not get taken out once again by the cylindrical death trap and then triumphantly proclaim, "Mommy I moved so Murphy wouldn't get me!" What could I do but congratulate her?
I told him F NO! He could puke in the bathroom for all I care but if he yacked on the carpet or on the bed I was giving him away. Needless to say he kept it down but also needless to say here comes my kid staggering down the hall towards my room due to all the ruckus. He goes to sniff her and instead basically snow plows her over with his cone since his cone is frozen stiff and does not bend with the impact of her body.
This causes her to cry and me to scream at him some more. I finally get her to calm down and tell him to get back up on the bed since I was not taking him outside again wherein he leaps for the bed, catches my big toe in his cone and practically rips it off. While I am grabbing my toe in pain I see my daughter fling herself on the pillows so as to not get taken out once again by the cylindrical death trap and then triumphantly proclaim, "Mommy I moved so Murphy wouldn't get me!" What could I do but congratulate her?
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Rub A Dub Dub There's a Dog in My Tub
The other night my husband went out to get his haircut during a time that directly coincided with bathtime. As you know from my previous stories that my dog Murphy cannot be trusted to roam the house alone when my husband leaves. He is notorious for stealing God knows what and either destroying the found item on site or doing a drive-by to show you what prize he has scored while whipping his head back and forth. To combat this I now lock him in the bathroom with my daughter and I during bathtime if I am the only parent home. This was the case the other night.
With the three of us jammed into a 5x5 space I filled up the bathtub with bubbles and hoisted my daughter in to get clean. No sooner had I put her in had my dog bellied up to the big drinking fountain and helped himself. This is one of my daughter's favorite things and it always triggers a laugh or squel of delight.
A sidenote: My dog pukes when he drinks too much water, so my husband and I have developed this highly accute sensor to hear him drinking and then yell at him to stop right before the 'puke point.' We do this by belloring at the top of our lungs three times "OKAY!!!" For whatever reason Murphy likes us to yell this three times and rarely, rarely ever quits before we have reached a ridiculous level of loudness and are extremely pissed that we have exherted ourselves over him drinking too much water.
So right on cue I begin my series of saying OKAY and increasing my volume everytime it leaves my mouth. For whatever reason Murphy thought that the OKAY combined with the tapping of the tub side, which I did to get his attention, meant why don't you come on in? He turned his head to the side to give me one last glance before he lifted up a foot and plunged it into the bathtub. In retrospect I think he was looking at me for approval to actually enter the water, I gave him a good boy smile/nod since I was telling him good boy for not drinking. Total miscommunication and next thing I know he has one of his four paws submerged. Quickly realizing what was going on I changed my tone and told him in a more threatening way that if he put one more paw in that water he was getting a bath since I figured the level of water clean up would be about equal since he would have to then take two paws out which would require a jump back move. He apparently accepted my challenge and put his other paw in.
I looked at my daughter and saw a bit of fear but a lot of joy in eyes as I shoved Murphy's back end into the tub. What I didn't really account for was his ridiculous size that took up over three fourths of the standard size tub. My daughter was pressed against the front corner of the tub because Murphy was not all the way to his end which caused her to be sardined at the drain end. It was at this point I realized I again wasn't winning mother of the year and maybe hadn't thought this whole idea totally through. I pushed Murphy inch by inch towards the far end of the tub which gave her just enough room to pry her chest off the bathtub wall.
I took the tupperware bowl that my daughter liked to play with and dumped water over Murphy's head, back, legs, and undercoat. My daughter had snapped out of her shock that her 95 pound brother was actually bathing with her and was all into getting some soap on her hands to lather him up. Of course the only soap that was in arms reach was the baby nighttime bath soap so we had no choice but to use it. While she soaped up the dog I soaped up her and thought it was a pretty impressive assembly line I had created. I finshed her in 30 second flat while she had barely made a hand sized soap sud on him, all the while demanding more soap. I tried to accomodate her requests in order to keep the peace and avoid a tatrum at all cost. That was the last thing I needed was to have a toddler screaming her lights out and wanting to get out of the bath immediately while having Murphy sitting there all soaped up. Unattended I am sure he would have fled the scene.
When we were finally rinsing him off, well me, not her, she was still trying to lather him up, I noticed the murky color of the water. It was literally a grayish tone that would be comparable to mixing up some quick-set cement powder in too much water. That is when I realized I had failed to plan out the exit strategy. I knew Murphy would not sit in the tub alone so I opted to unload him first. I quick darted from the room into the hall where I knew a beach towel laid (we are moving, things are in odd places, but I was thankful). Even though it was just for a second my mind raced that again no mother of the year award. I just left my lab sitting in a dirtest bubble bath in the history of bubble baths with my 21 month old daughter.
I spread the beach towel on the floor and instructed Murphy to get out. Usually when we give him a bath we have multiple towels on hand to dry him off in the shower, yeah we usually give showers not baths, and then have him step out on a towel to cut down on the 'water everywhere' factor. Obviously this time my hands were tied. I told him to get out, which he didn't wait for the second command to act on. In one fell swoop he launched himself out of the tub and onto the towel. From there he shook, and shook, and shook. He shook so much that my daughter got scared and started to wail. (Mind you she was still sitting in the cement water.) At this point I was helpless to get her because he went from shaking to darting in between my legs, rolling over on his back, and flaying in every direction. Like I said this bathroom is small. If he is standing up in it there is only floor space for me to be pinned against the vanity or against the tub, which are on opposite sides of the room.
I retrieved the towel from the floor and tried to wipe him down as best I could. The bathroom damage was already done. There was water everywhere. I decided he and the bathroom were a lost cause and I needed to rescue my baby who was probably dirtier than when she started her bath.
I turned on the faucet again and held her in my arm like a football, which at this age is no small feat since she is pretty freaking heavy. I washed her off the best I could while Murphy continued his wild thrashing behind us. I called it good as I saw no visible dirt on her and unplugged the drain. As I finished drying her off I looked back into the tub and saw what seemed to be the remains of a sand/gravel pit. It was horrible. (The next night my husband actually cleaned the tub before we put her back in it becuase it had so much standing dirt.)
We made our way out of the bathroom to go get her dressed. We exited the war scene first with Murphy right behind us. As soon as his paws hit the carpet he was off like a shot down the stairs. With him out of the bathroom I noticed there was a severe amount of standing water that I needed to quickly attend to. I set my daughter down and retrieved another towel to mop up with.
Now I am not sure what it is with dogs and baths. It gives them a ridiculous level of energy that they never had before. Murphy was doing mach 3 around the living room and then back up the stairs at us. When Murphy came charging past us my daughter must have tried to quick run back into the bathroom but instead lost her footing on the super slick wet floor and went down like a ton of bricks. This of course was followed by hysterical crying and I really did feel bad. Fortunately she was totally fine and again just scared.
I finally got the water all cleaned up, my daughter all outfitted in her pjs, and we all went downstairs to talk to grandma on Skype. My husband got home a little while later and inquired about the horrible smell as he walked in the door. I casually told him it was Murphy and he had taken a bath. It didn't take him long to put together the pieces that I had given our dog and our daughter a bath in the same bathtub at the same time. He was repulsed but seemed somewhat consoled when I told him I washed her off. He was again quickly repulsed when he went up to check out the bathroom's condition and noticed the dirt remenents in the tub. Thankfully no one was injured during this whole fiasco and I will admit after the fact not one of my better ideas, but on the bright side I did give both the dog and the kid a bath all in one fell swoop which in hind sight was a real time saver.
With the three of us jammed into a 5x5 space I filled up the bathtub with bubbles and hoisted my daughter in to get clean. No sooner had I put her in had my dog bellied up to the big drinking fountain and helped himself. This is one of my daughter's favorite things and it always triggers a laugh or squel of delight.
A sidenote: My dog pukes when he drinks too much water, so my husband and I have developed this highly accute sensor to hear him drinking and then yell at him to stop right before the 'puke point.' We do this by belloring at the top of our lungs three times "OKAY!!!" For whatever reason Murphy likes us to yell this three times and rarely, rarely ever quits before we have reached a ridiculous level of loudness and are extremely pissed that we have exherted ourselves over him drinking too much water.
So right on cue I begin my series of saying OKAY and increasing my volume everytime it leaves my mouth. For whatever reason Murphy thought that the OKAY combined with the tapping of the tub side, which I did to get his attention, meant why don't you come on in? He turned his head to the side to give me one last glance before he lifted up a foot and plunged it into the bathtub. In retrospect I think he was looking at me for approval to actually enter the water, I gave him a good boy smile/nod since I was telling him good boy for not drinking. Total miscommunication and next thing I know he has one of his four paws submerged. Quickly realizing what was going on I changed my tone and told him in a more threatening way that if he put one more paw in that water he was getting a bath since I figured the level of water clean up would be about equal since he would have to then take two paws out which would require a jump back move. He apparently accepted my challenge and put his other paw in.
I looked at my daughter and saw a bit of fear but a lot of joy in eyes as I shoved Murphy's back end into the tub. What I didn't really account for was his ridiculous size that took up over three fourths of the standard size tub. My daughter was pressed against the front corner of the tub because Murphy was not all the way to his end which caused her to be sardined at the drain end. It was at this point I realized I again wasn't winning mother of the year and maybe hadn't thought this whole idea totally through. I pushed Murphy inch by inch towards the far end of the tub which gave her just enough room to pry her chest off the bathtub wall.
I took the tupperware bowl that my daughter liked to play with and dumped water over Murphy's head, back, legs, and undercoat. My daughter had snapped out of her shock that her 95 pound brother was actually bathing with her and was all into getting some soap on her hands to lather him up. Of course the only soap that was in arms reach was the baby nighttime bath soap so we had no choice but to use it. While she soaped up the dog I soaped up her and thought it was a pretty impressive assembly line I had created. I finshed her in 30 second flat while she had barely made a hand sized soap sud on him, all the while demanding more soap. I tried to accomodate her requests in order to keep the peace and avoid a tatrum at all cost. That was the last thing I needed was to have a toddler screaming her lights out and wanting to get out of the bath immediately while having Murphy sitting there all soaped up. Unattended I am sure he would have fled the scene.
When we were finally rinsing him off, well me, not her, she was still trying to lather him up, I noticed the murky color of the water. It was literally a grayish tone that would be comparable to mixing up some quick-set cement powder in too much water. That is when I realized I had failed to plan out the exit strategy. I knew Murphy would not sit in the tub alone so I opted to unload him first. I quick darted from the room into the hall where I knew a beach towel laid (we are moving, things are in odd places, but I was thankful). Even though it was just for a second my mind raced that again no mother of the year award. I just left my lab sitting in a dirtest bubble bath in the history of bubble baths with my 21 month old daughter.
I spread the beach towel on the floor and instructed Murphy to get out. Usually when we give him a bath we have multiple towels on hand to dry him off in the shower, yeah we usually give showers not baths, and then have him step out on a towel to cut down on the 'water everywhere' factor. Obviously this time my hands were tied. I told him to get out, which he didn't wait for the second command to act on. In one fell swoop he launched himself out of the tub and onto the towel. From there he shook, and shook, and shook. He shook so much that my daughter got scared and started to wail. (Mind you she was still sitting in the cement water.) At this point I was helpless to get her because he went from shaking to darting in between my legs, rolling over on his back, and flaying in every direction. Like I said this bathroom is small. If he is standing up in it there is only floor space for me to be pinned against the vanity or against the tub, which are on opposite sides of the room.
I retrieved the towel from the floor and tried to wipe him down as best I could. The bathroom damage was already done. There was water everywhere. I decided he and the bathroom were a lost cause and I needed to rescue my baby who was probably dirtier than when she started her bath.
I turned on the faucet again and held her in my arm like a football, which at this age is no small feat since she is pretty freaking heavy. I washed her off the best I could while Murphy continued his wild thrashing behind us. I called it good as I saw no visible dirt on her and unplugged the drain. As I finished drying her off I looked back into the tub and saw what seemed to be the remains of a sand/gravel pit. It was horrible. (The next night my husband actually cleaned the tub before we put her back in it becuase it had so much standing dirt.)
We made our way out of the bathroom to go get her dressed. We exited the war scene first with Murphy right behind us. As soon as his paws hit the carpet he was off like a shot down the stairs. With him out of the bathroom I noticed there was a severe amount of standing water that I needed to quickly attend to. I set my daughter down and retrieved another towel to mop up with.
Now I am not sure what it is with dogs and baths. It gives them a ridiculous level of energy that they never had before. Murphy was doing mach 3 around the living room and then back up the stairs at us. When Murphy came charging past us my daughter must have tried to quick run back into the bathroom but instead lost her footing on the super slick wet floor and went down like a ton of bricks. This of course was followed by hysterical crying and I really did feel bad. Fortunately she was totally fine and again just scared.
I finally got the water all cleaned up, my daughter all outfitted in her pjs, and we all went downstairs to talk to grandma on Skype. My husband got home a little while later and inquired about the horrible smell as he walked in the door. I casually told him it was Murphy and he had taken a bath. It didn't take him long to put together the pieces that I had given our dog and our daughter a bath in the same bathtub at the same time. He was repulsed but seemed somewhat consoled when I told him I washed her off. He was again quickly repulsed when he went up to check out the bathroom's condition and noticed the dirt remenents in the tub. Thankfully no one was injured during this whole fiasco and I will admit after the fact not one of my better ideas, but on the bright side I did give both the dog and the kid a bath all in one fell swoop which in hind sight was a real time saver.
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Early Bird Does Not Get The Worm, Or The Money
I liked Bingo so much with Grandma I did not hesitate to say yes to a co-worker of mine who asked me if I wanted to accompany her to the local bingo game. My friend/co-worker is two years away from retirement and is a stitch. She had hip surgery and now I think she just carries her cane as a decoy to kick the shit out of someone if they try to mess with her.
I picked her up at her apartment after work and we headed to the Catholic school auditorium. Upon arrival we selected two seats from the sea of tables which happened to be one table away from the food counter. Not sure how long it would take us to get there we ended up being about 45 minutes early, even for the Early Birds! However within minutes of setting down our things we noticed that people were starting to gather outside of the food counter despite the metal gate that clearly conveyed the counter was not open yet. A few minutes after that it literally looked like the Southwest Airline’s gate fifteen minutes before boarding. People were jockeying for position while the line continued to grow and wrap. We decided to go buy our cards and wait for the food line to die down, even though no food was even being served. Fifteen dollars later we were ready for all the early birds, the regular bingo games, and the specials. (Listen to me now whipping off the lingo!)
Just as we got back to our seats the food counter opened. It was taco night which apparently was a very popular night at the Bingo hall. I noticed that the time to get food and have enough time to eat it was quickly passing us by so my friend and I took our positions in the helter skelter line. On our way up to the counter the people at the end of our table warned us it was ‘vicious up there’ as we walked by. I decided there was no need to feel intimated by these little grandmas. In my heels I was standing at a cool 6’0’’ and was one of the only people under 50 in the joint. If I could not take down grandma in a crunch what good was I? I tell you what once I got up there I had to maintain a wide stance since my friend is not much more than 5’0’’ and with a new hip was not doing too much boxing out. At one point she got cut off by what looked like a homeless lady who reeked of pee. Although I realized the lady was probably homeless she obviously could afford to play bingo and buy a taco and I was not going to stand for her cutting off my friend. I wormed my long arm around the homeless looking lady and pulled my friend to the front. I might look harmless in my green argyle sweater but I wanted it to be known I was not a pushover. We got our tacos and drinks and felt very bedraggled when we made our way back to our seats.
Bingo started and luck was not on our side. We were always a few numbers away but never close enough to yell out bingo. We were sitting across from one guy who was playing at least 20 paper cards and an electronic game. He was the only one close to us who won, but I would estimate he paid over fifty dollars for all of those games. During the break I congratulated him on his win and noticed that his dad, who was sitting next to him and was no less than 85 years old, was making eyes at me. Next thing I know he pursed his lips and gave off a kissing sound. I squinted my eyes and cocked my head to non-verbally ask if that really just happened. He said back to me, “Hey did you catch that?” I of course played dumb and said, “Umm what?” He said, “Well if you didn’t catch that one here’s another one. “ Again he pursed his lips and gave off a big kiss in my direction. People were now taking notice. I tried to do a low chuckle and said something like, oh yeah, thanks. By this time the son realized what his dad was doing and began to scold him for trying to pick up someone who was younger than his own daughter. The dad responded that it could never hurt to try. My face was crimson even though I know I should not have been embarrassed but I was and I had no idea what to say. What do you say when an 85 year old man blows a kiss in your direction and said it could not hurt to try to pick you up? I think the son was feeling kind of embarrassed too because he started to laugh and told his dad he was old but still a G. Yes a G. He then asked his dad how many girlfriends he had at the hall that night. The dad looked around thoughtfully and resolutely said six. Within moments a lady walked over to say hello to the dad and the son and planted a big old smooch on the dad’s lips! This guy was a G! I would have just been one in his harem of girls.
The bingo went on and thankfully no more kisses were blown in my direction. The only other real highlight of the night was when we stopped playing for money and started to play for 30+ lb. turkeys. These guys just kept hauling these humungous turkeys from a back room. Those things had to have been on steroids. Unfortunately for us though we did not even win a turkey. We left fifteen dollars poorer but resolute to give it a go another Friday night.
I picked her up at her apartment after work and we headed to the Catholic school auditorium. Upon arrival we selected two seats from the sea of tables which happened to be one table away from the food counter. Not sure how long it would take us to get there we ended up being about 45 minutes early, even for the Early Birds! However within minutes of setting down our things we noticed that people were starting to gather outside of the food counter despite the metal gate that clearly conveyed the counter was not open yet. A few minutes after that it literally looked like the Southwest Airline’s gate fifteen minutes before boarding. People were jockeying for position while the line continued to grow and wrap. We decided to go buy our cards and wait for the food line to die down, even though no food was even being served. Fifteen dollars later we were ready for all the early birds, the regular bingo games, and the specials. (Listen to me now whipping off the lingo!)
Just as we got back to our seats the food counter opened. It was taco night which apparently was a very popular night at the Bingo hall. I noticed that the time to get food and have enough time to eat it was quickly passing us by so my friend and I took our positions in the helter skelter line. On our way up to the counter the people at the end of our table warned us it was ‘vicious up there’ as we walked by. I decided there was no need to feel intimated by these little grandmas. In my heels I was standing at a cool 6’0’’ and was one of the only people under 50 in the joint. If I could not take down grandma in a crunch what good was I? I tell you what once I got up there I had to maintain a wide stance since my friend is not much more than 5’0’’ and with a new hip was not doing too much boxing out. At one point she got cut off by what looked like a homeless lady who reeked of pee. Although I realized the lady was probably homeless she obviously could afford to play bingo and buy a taco and I was not going to stand for her cutting off my friend. I wormed my long arm around the homeless looking lady and pulled my friend to the front. I might look harmless in my green argyle sweater but I wanted it to be known I was not a pushover. We got our tacos and drinks and felt very bedraggled when we made our way back to our seats.
Bingo started and luck was not on our side. We were always a few numbers away but never close enough to yell out bingo. We were sitting across from one guy who was playing at least 20 paper cards and an electronic game. He was the only one close to us who won, but I would estimate he paid over fifty dollars for all of those games. During the break I congratulated him on his win and noticed that his dad, who was sitting next to him and was no less than 85 years old, was making eyes at me. Next thing I know he pursed his lips and gave off a kissing sound. I squinted my eyes and cocked my head to non-verbally ask if that really just happened. He said back to me, “Hey did you catch that?” I of course played dumb and said, “Umm what?” He said, “Well if you didn’t catch that one here’s another one. “ Again he pursed his lips and gave off a big kiss in my direction. People were now taking notice. I tried to do a low chuckle and said something like, oh yeah, thanks. By this time the son realized what his dad was doing and began to scold him for trying to pick up someone who was younger than his own daughter. The dad responded that it could never hurt to try. My face was crimson even though I know I should not have been embarrassed but I was and I had no idea what to say. What do you say when an 85 year old man blows a kiss in your direction and said it could not hurt to try to pick you up? I think the son was feeling kind of embarrassed too because he started to laugh and told his dad he was old but still a G. Yes a G. He then asked his dad how many girlfriends he had at the hall that night. The dad looked around thoughtfully and resolutely said six. Within moments a lady walked over to say hello to the dad and the son and planted a big old smooch on the dad’s lips! This guy was a G! I would have just been one in his harem of girls.
The bingo went on and thankfully no more kisses were blown in my direction. The only other real highlight of the night was when we stopped playing for money and started to play for 30+ lb. turkeys. These guys just kept hauling these humungous turkeys from a back room. Those things had to have been on steroids. Unfortunately for us though we did not even win a turkey. We left fifteen dollars poorer but resolute to give it a go another Friday night.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Blips On My Radar
So as you know by now I sit in a cube that is surrounded by many other cubes. This set up lets you overhear a lot of things and also makes for some good observation. What works to my disadvantage is that I am the loudest laugher ever and usually when I get rolling people 6 rows down can hear me. It could be farther I just had a few buddies six rows down who actually told me they could hear me like I was sitting next to them.
Anyway this is a short blog about some of the stories I have heard or been told directly while at work.
The guy who sits across from me is also one of my husband's friends outside of work. So when things get irritating or slow we just chat to either pass the time or snap each other out of a funk. From here on out I will call him Cubemate. Now I am not sure how we got on this subject but Cubemate started telling me this story of when he was little a couple Mormans, no doubt on their mission, came knocking at his parents door. His mom instinctively told him and his sister to get under the dining room table so they wouldn't be seen in hopes the missionaries would go away and think no one was home. Cubemate and his sister AND his mom all sandwiched themselves under the kitchen table and waited. He told me that the knocking briefly stopped until they looked up and the two missionaries had gone around to the back of the house and were now staring at his family huddled together underneath the kitchen table. He said he remembered his mom whispering to them in a commanding tone, "DON'T MOVE!" all the while these two guys were pointing at them through the glass and repeatedly knocking on the door. He said they finally ended up leaving and no one in his family ever questioned the whole episode. But as he was telling this story to me you could see it was one of those stories when you tell someone out loud it sounds way more out there than originally interpreted. He said he brought it up to his mom awhile back and she chose to have a selective memory and wiped the whole incident from her mind.
Story two about Cubemate.
He made an appointment on Halloween night at a local salon to get his hair cut. When he arrived the stylist, a guy, escorted him back to his chair and got the low down on what he wanted done. Cubemate removed his glasses and the stylist went to work. I should mention that Cubemate cannot see his hand in front of his face without his glasses. Cubemate said he heard the scissors snapping but didn't quite feel the amount of hair falling off that he would have expected but figured he had been there almost 45 minutes so the stylist must be doing a good job. Plus since he couldn't see what was going on who was he to question. After 45 minutes had passed the stylist told him that he was finished and asked him to give it a look and see what he thought. Cubemate said that his hair was all styled into almost an updo and had so much gel in it that it was hard to tell what really happened. He casually told the stylist that it looked good and promptly put his hat on. The next day Cubemate woke up, got some coffee, and sat down on the couch. His wife walked in, took one look at his hair and asked him if he had gone to get a haircut yet because it still looked like was wearing 'the helmet'...sidenote.. Cubemates hair grows out on the sides and really starts to resemble a helmet. He said yeah he just went the night before. She told him that he got the 'Coming To America' haircut and to go take a look for himself. Cubemate went to the bathroom and indeed saw in full glory that no hair from his head had actually been removed. His neck was shaved but his hair was just as long as it had been the day before. The updo gel style totally masked the fact that very little, if any hair was cut off his head. It is a mystery what the stylist did for 45 minutes and now Cubemate is pissed that he dropped $30 to get his neck shaved.
Third and final story....
There is a lady at my work that is a little crazy. People are seriously scared of her and try to avoid her at all costs. She has in the past been known to threaten people if they mess with her and even has thrown out there that she would key people's car. So needless to say she is a loose cannon. A friend of mine who she works for said he overheard an interesting exchange the other day. Crazy was challenging a guy who had just returned from getting knee replacement surgery to a race. Apparently this guy was bragging how well he was healing and that he could virtually do anything. Crazy bet him that he couldn't beat her in a race. He said he could and before my friend knew what happening these two were running down the hall. Crazy trips and her wig goes flying. Classic. Guess the knee surgery paid off.
Anyway this is a short blog about some of the stories I have heard or been told directly while at work.
The guy who sits across from me is also one of my husband's friends outside of work. So when things get irritating or slow we just chat to either pass the time or snap each other out of a funk. From here on out I will call him Cubemate. Now I am not sure how we got on this subject but Cubemate started telling me this story of when he was little a couple Mormans, no doubt on their mission, came knocking at his parents door. His mom instinctively told him and his sister to get under the dining room table so they wouldn't be seen in hopes the missionaries would go away and think no one was home. Cubemate and his sister AND his mom all sandwiched themselves under the kitchen table and waited. He told me that the knocking briefly stopped until they looked up and the two missionaries had gone around to the back of the house and were now staring at his family huddled together underneath the kitchen table. He said he remembered his mom whispering to them in a commanding tone, "DON'T MOVE!" all the while these two guys were pointing at them through the glass and repeatedly knocking on the door. He said they finally ended up leaving and no one in his family ever questioned the whole episode. But as he was telling this story to me you could see it was one of those stories when you tell someone out loud it sounds way more out there than originally interpreted. He said he brought it up to his mom awhile back and she chose to have a selective memory and wiped the whole incident from her mind.
Story two about Cubemate.
He made an appointment on Halloween night at a local salon to get his hair cut. When he arrived the stylist, a guy, escorted him back to his chair and got the low down on what he wanted done. Cubemate removed his glasses and the stylist went to work. I should mention that Cubemate cannot see his hand in front of his face without his glasses. Cubemate said he heard the scissors snapping but didn't quite feel the amount of hair falling off that he would have expected but figured he had been there almost 45 minutes so the stylist must be doing a good job. Plus since he couldn't see what was going on who was he to question. After 45 minutes had passed the stylist told him that he was finished and asked him to give it a look and see what he thought. Cubemate said that his hair was all styled into almost an updo and had so much gel in it that it was hard to tell what really happened. He casually told the stylist that it looked good and promptly put his hat on. The next day Cubemate woke up, got some coffee, and sat down on the couch. His wife walked in, took one look at his hair and asked him if he had gone to get a haircut yet because it still looked like was wearing 'the helmet'...sidenote.. Cubemates hair grows out on the sides and really starts to resemble a helmet. He said yeah he just went the night before. She told him that he got the 'Coming To America' haircut and to go take a look for himself. Cubemate went to the bathroom and indeed saw in full glory that no hair from his head had actually been removed. His neck was shaved but his hair was just as long as it had been the day before. The updo gel style totally masked the fact that very little, if any hair was cut off his head. It is a mystery what the stylist did for 45 minutes and now Cubemate is pissed that he dropped $30 to get his neck shaved.
Third and final story....
There is a lady at my work that is a little crazy. People are seriously scared of her and try to avoid her at all costs. She has in the past been known to threaten people if they mess with her and even has thrown out there that she would key people's car. So needless to say she is a loose cannon. A friend of mine who she works for said he overheard an interesting exchange the other day. Crazy was challenging a guy who had just returned from getting knee replacement surgery to a race. Apparently this guy was bragging how well he was healing and that he could virtually do anything. Crazy bet him that he couldn't beat her in a race. He said he could and before my friend knew what happening these two were running down the hall. Crazy trips and her wig goes flying. Classic. Guess the knee surgery paid off.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Way Outback
My mom’s car was on its last leg and of course my dad, who passed away recently, always did all of the car shopping. She consistently reminded me of this when literally every time I talked to her about what car she was interested in or what features she wanted she would always say, “I’ve never had to do this before and I don’t want to do this now.” Like there was some other option with her living in Michigan and me living in Nebraska, a meager 12 hour drive. Venturing into a car dealership by herself was the equivalent of most people’s view of getting a root canal. Many nights proceeding the day where she was to go out and test drive a few cars she would tell to me how she woke up in the middle of the night and could not go back to sleep because she was too consumed with thinking about buying a car. Thank God for friends. One of my Dad’s best friends volunteered to be her first mate on the test driving whirlwind. Those two covered more dealerships in two nights than I will ever visit in my life. They narrowed it down between the Subaru Outback and the Nissan Rogue. But after listening to my Mom analyze and overanalyze the pros and cons of each car I already knew she was sold on the Outback. She requested that I go and test drive each of these vehicles so she could have my opinion on which one I liked.
After calling around to a couple dealers within driving distance of my house I found that the only dealer who even had an Outback on their lot was a good 40 minute drive away. As a side note the Company I work for gets a supplier discount for employees from certain car companies. In anticipation of my arrival I filled out all the forms online so I could be equipped with my piece of paper that verified that I did indeed qualify for the discounted price. I arrived at the dealership in the early afternoon and was greeted by a nice young salesman who sat me down and grilled me about exactly what I was looking for in a car. He had me fill out cards to check what I couldn’t live without the whole rigmarole. All I wanted was to test drive this thing and get my discounted supplier price quote so my Mom could have a baseline for negotiating! Before I know it a ½ hour had passed me by and I felt like this guy could have told me how many cavities I had based on his intense line of questioning. Finally the guy gets keys to the Outback on the lot and we make our way to what I thought would be the test drive. But oh no, it was not. It was the “let me walk you around this entire car multiple times so I can show you EVERY feature this car has to offer. He went as far as to educate about all of the engine cap colors and what each of color code meant. The whole time I was trying to play the part that I was really interested in this car so I didn’t want to come across rushed and rude. After another ½ hour the salesman announced we were ready to start the test drive.
I breathed a sigh of relief and started to make my way around to the driver’s side door. The salesman stopped me and said he likes to do his test drives a little differently and asked if I would first ride so he could show me some of the features of the car. I agreed and hopped into the passenger seat. He drove around the lot and showed me a nice parking brake feature and a roll back prevention feature. No sooner had we exited the lot to make our way to the main road did I realize that salesman was hopping the curve and driving into a grassy field that bordered the dealership’s lot. I gave him a look like, “what the fuck dude?” and grabbed a hold of the door to brace myself. He laughed my reaction off and said he started to do this during test drives so everyone could see how the car’s all wheel drive really performed. So there we went bouncing around this unkempt field. Salesman then proclaimed he wanted to show me how this car’s tires so rarely spin. He inched up a hill on the right side of the field and practically came to a stop. Now mind you this is a narrow hill. There was not much on either side of us so again I was in the full brace position gripping my door. Through gritted teeth I tensely agreed with him how impressive it was that the tires did not spin all the while questioning what was really happening here. We careen down the other side of the hill and instead of exiting the field, Salesman decided to drive up the side of an embankment that went around the perimeter of the field. We were now driving parallel to the hill to where you feel the car was going to roll side over side down the hill. I started to get out my very high pitch nervous voice and was sitting more up in my seat bracing one hand on my door and the other hand on the console. The communication between Salesman and I went something like this.
Me shouting (not sure why I am shouting, just felt it needed to be louder since I was in a panic): Oohhhhhhh!! I don’t feel very comfortable with this.
Salesman (shouting back as to match my intensity): Don’t worry! No one feels comfortable with this part of the test drive. I just want to demonstrate that this car will not roll even when parallel with the ground on a steep incline.
Me (with a sound of desperation): I believe you!! (Ironically with no trust in my voice.) Now can we drive down???
Salesman turned the wheel slightly to the left and we again careened down the side of the hill and proceeded to drive towards a huge hole. Salesman informed me in the same loud voice that he was now going demonstrate how the car reacted when it only had three wheels on the ground at once. I screamed.. OH SHIT!! but to my surprise when we passed over this hole I felt not one ripple of a bump. I looked over at Salesman in shock and said, “Wow! I felt nothing at all!” He looked pretty pleased with himself and kept on pointing out all the features of this fabulous car as he jumped the curb again and pulled out onto a paved road.
We chit chatted for awhile as Salesman drove on, and on, and on until I questioned just where we were going. He assured me not to worry that he wasn’t taking me out into the country to kidnap me but we were headed to a gravel road so he could try to simulate how the car handled on snow and ice. Mind you it hadn’t crossed my mind that he was taking me somewhere to kidnap me although we had been driving for about 20 minutes and since he brought it up my mind began to wonder. During this 20 minute trip I found out that this kid was only 21 years old and had come into work drunk. I think he was trying to sound cool, but that just made me a little wearier that we were driving a brand new vehicle through open fields and now were destined to a gravel road.
When we arrived at the gravel road Salesman immediately floored it. I shrieked. He slammed on the brakes and said this time he wanted me to notice how the tires did not spin, even on gravel. He went on to tell me the all wheel drive would make it feel like we were driving on a paved road. Before I had time to comment we were off, pedal to the metal. Even though I was horror struck and in fear of my safety I have to admit I was pretty impressed that this car had virtually no skid. Just as I was about to tell Salesman that I was impressed with the car’s ability he started to quickly steer the car from side to side across the gravel road. I again shouted out, HOLY SHIT! and reestablished my grip on my door and the console in an effort to brace myself for our impending trip into the ditch. But again, I was taken aback that the car was not slipping at all. It was still behaving like we were on a paved road despite the sounds of little pebbles hitting the under carriage of the car and the fact that we were darting from one side of the road to the other in a very rapid pattern.
We made it to the end of the road alive and Salesman made a U-turn. He told me it was my time to drive. We ran around the car and got in our new respective seats. While I was buckling up Salesman told me that he knew I would probably not be comfortable but he would really like me to floor it down this gravel road so I could see for myself that he was not a professionally trained driver and the car did not behave so well just for him. I didn’t want to crush the poor kid but the thought of him being a professional driver never crossed my mind. Instead of telling him this I brushed off the comment and figured what the hell as I pressed my foot to the floor. I should mention that while we were trading seats two runners came off of a trail and were now making their way down our gravel road. When I floored the car these guys turned around with a horrified look in their eye. I decided not to give it two thoughts as I whizzed passed them leaving them in a cloud of dust. In retrospect I feel pretty bad about that, just wanted to say that. No sooner than I was mentally patting myself on the back for driving at an elevated speed on gravel did Salesman tell me to steer the car back and forth across the road like he did so I could feel for myself that the car how great this car handled. I complied since at this point I figured I was all in. Of course just as I expected at this point the car behaved like a dream. I was really getting ready to buy this car for myself I was so impressed.
I pulled out onto a main road and then onto the highway. We made our way back to the dealer where I anticipated the pressure sale of, “What would it take for you to buy this car today line.” Instead when I turned onto the street the dealer was located on Salesman asked if I would like to drive the car through the field. I of course jumped at the chance. How often do you get to drive a brand new car that isn’t yours through a muddy field? Before I knew it I was flooring it up hills, driving over the huge hole that apparently left me with only three tires on the ground, and making sharp turns. I can only imagine the manager looking at the window wondering just what in the heck we were doing on this extended test drive. But on the flip side it was a great sales technique to let a test driver barrel through an open field to really display what the car can do.
I got out of there with quoted prices in hand with relatively small sales pitch. It did help however that my husband called pretty ticked off that I was still at the car dealership two hours later and I wasn’t even interested in buying a car! I can’t blame him though; I only went there for a quick test drive and to get my discounted price quote. Next thing you know I was tearing through a field and opening her up on a gravel road. After the whole ordeal I am very, very impressed with the Subaru Outback and if I were actually in the market for a car I might strongly consider buying one. As a sidenote, my Mom successfully negotiated her way lower than the set discounted price I was quoted and is now the proud owner of her very own Outback. Way to go Mom!
After calling around to a couple dealers within driving distance of my house I found that the only dealer who even had an Outback on their lot was a good 40 minute drive away. As a side note the Company I work for gets a supplier discount for employees from certain car companies. In anticipation of my arrival I filled out all the forms online so I could be equipped with my piece of paper that verified that I did indeed qualify for the discounted price. I arrived at the dealership in the early afternoon and was greeted by a nice young salesman who sat me down and grilled me about exactly what I was looking for in a car. He had me fill out cards to check what I couldn’t live without the whole rigmarole. All I wanted was to test drive this thing and get my discounted supplier price quote so my Mom could have a baseline for negotiating! Before I know it a ½ hour had passed me by and I felt like this guy could have told me how many cavities I had based on his intense line of questioning. Finally the guy gets keys to the Outback on the lot and we make our way to what I thought would be the test drive. But oh no, it was not. It was the “let me walk you around this entire car multiple times so I can show you EVERY feature this car has to offer. He went as far as to educate about all of the engine cap colors and what each of color code meant. The whole time I was trying to play the part that I was really interested in this car so I didn’t want to come across rushed and rude. After another ½ hour the salesman announced we were ready to start the test drive.
I breathed a sigh of relief and started to make my way around to the driver’s side door. The salesman stopped me and said he likes to do his test drives a little differently and asked if I would first ride so he could show me some of the features of the car. I agreed and hopped into the passenger seat. He drove around the lot and showed me a nice parking brake feature and a roll back prevention feature. No sooner had we exited the lot to make our way to the main road did I realize that salesman was hopping the curve and driving into a grassy field that bordered the dealership’s lot. I gave him a look like, “what the fuck dude?” and grabbed a hold of the door to brace myself. He laughed my reaction off and said he started to do this during test drives so everyone could see how the car’s all wheel drive really performed. So there we went bouncing around this unkempt field. Salesman then proclaimed he wanted to show me how this car’s tires so rarely spin. He inched up a hill on the right side of the field and practically came to a stop. Now mind you this is a narrow hill. There was not much on either side of us so again I was in the full brace position gripping my door. Through gritted teeth I tensely agreed with him how impressive it was that the tires did not spin all the while questioning what was really happening here. We careen down the other side of the hill and instead of exiting the field, Salesman decided to drive up the side of an embankment that went around the perimeter of the field. We were now driving parallel to the hill to where you feel the car was going to roll side over side down the hill. I started to get out my very high pitch nervous voice and was sitting more up in my seat bracing one hand on my door and the other hand on the console. The communication between Salesman and I went something like this.
Me shouting (not sure why I am shouting, just felt it needed to be louder since I was in a panic): Oohhhhhhh!! I don’t feel very comfortable with this.
Salesman (shouting back as to match my intensity): Don’t worry! No one feels comfortable with this part of the test drive. I just want to demonstrate that this car will not roll even when parallel with the ground on a steep incline.
Me (with a sound of desperation): I believe you!! (Ironically with no trust in my voice.) Now can we drive down???
Salesman turned the wheel slightly to the left and we again careened down the side of the hill and proceeded to drive towards a huge hole. Salesman informed me in the same loud voice that he was now going demonstrate how the car reacted when it only had three wheels on the ground at once. I screamed.. OH SHIT!! but to my surprise when we passed over this hole I felt not one ripple of a bump. I looked over at Salesman in shock and said, “Wow! I felt nothing at all!” He looked pretty pleased with himself and kept on pointing out all the features of this fabulous car as he jumped the curb again and pulled out onto a paved road.
We chit chatted for awhile as Salesman drove on, and on, and on until I questioned just where we were going. He assured me not to worry that he wasn’t taking me out into the country to kidnap me but we were headed to a gravel road so he could try to simulate how the car handled on snow and ice. Mind you it hadn’t crossed my mind that he was taking me somewhere to kidnap me although we had been driving for about 20 minutes and since he brought it up my mind began to wonder. During this 20 minute trip I found out that this kid was only 21 years old and had come into work drunk. I think he was trying to sound cool, but that just made me a little wearier that we were driving a brand new vehicle through open fields and now were destined to a gravel road.
When we arrived at the gravel road Salesman immediately floored it. I shrieked. He slammed on the brakes and said this time he wanted me to notice how the tires did not spin, even on gravel. He went on to tell me the all wheel drive would make it feel like we were driving on a paved road. Before I had time to comment we were off, pedal to the metal. Even though I was horror struck and in fear of my safety I have to admit I was pretty impressed that this car had virtually no skid. Just as I was about to tell Salesman that I was impressed with the car’s ability he started to quickly steer the car from side to side across the gravel road. I again shouted out, HOLY SHIT! and reestablished my grip on my door and the console in an effort to brace myself for our impending trip into the ditch. But again, I was taken aback that the car was not slipping at all. It was still behaving like we were on a paved road despite the sounds of little pebbles hitting the under carriage of the car and the fact that we were darting from one side of the road to the other in a very rapid pattern.
We made it to the end of the road alive and Salesman made a U-turn. He told me it was my time to drive. We ran around the car and got in our new respective seats. While I was buckling up Salesman told me that he knew I would probably not be comfortable but he would really like me to floor it down this gravel road so I could see for myself that he was not a professionally trained driver and the car did not behave so well just for him. I didn’t want to crush the poor kid but the thought of him being a professional driver never crossed my mind. Instead of telling him this I brushed off the comment and figured what the hell as I pressed my foot to the floor. I should mention that while we were trading seats two runners came off of a trail and were now making their way down our gravel road. When I floored the car these guys turned around with a horrified look in their eye. I decided not to give it two thoughts as I whizzed passed them leaving them in a cloud of dust. In retrospect I feel pretty bad about that, just wanted to say that. No sooner than I was mentally patting myself on the back for driving at an elevated speed on gravel did Salesman tell me to steer the car back and forth across the road like he did so I could feel for myself that the car how great this car handled. I complied since at this point I figured I was all in. Of course just as I expected at this point the car behaved like a dream. I was really getting ready to buy this car for myself I was so impressed.
I pulled out onto a main road and then onto the highway. We made our way back to the dealer where I anticipated the pressure sale of, “What would it take for you to buy this car today line.” Instead when I turned onto the street the dealer was located on Salesman asked if I would like to drive the car through the field. I of course jumped at the chance. How often do you get to drive a brand new car that isn’t yours through a muddy field? Before I knew it I was flooring it up hills, driving over the huge hole that apparently left me with only three tires on the ground, and making sharp turns. I can only imagine the manager looking at the window wondering just what in the heck we were doing on this extended test drive. But on the flip side it was a great sales technique to let a test driver barrel through an open field to really display what the car can do.
I got out of there with quoted prices in hand with relatively small sales pitch. It did help however that my husband called pretty ticked off that I was still at the car dealership two hours later and I wasn’t even interested in buying a car! I can’t blame him though; I only went there for a quick test drive and to get my discounted price quote. Next thing you know I was tearing through a field and opening her up on a gravel road. After the whole ordeal I am very, very impressed with the Subaru Outback and if I were actually in the market for a car I might strongly consider buying one. As a sidenote, my Mom successfully negotiated her way lower than the set discounted price I was quoted and is now the proud owner of her very own Outback. Way to go Mom!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)