King Solomon Rules; New Car Blues


So. I’ve been mostly out of touch with the blog world for a few days. I have been busy navigating my way through the stormy sea of car buying. I buy many vehicles for my business, but they are are big dump trucks and large one-ton pick up and work trucks. I have longterm relationships with dealers, and a keen understanding of what constitutes a good deal when I buy a vehicle for my business.

I’m also pretty good with used cars. I can research values and then take advantage of my negotiation skills. I’m so fucking crazy with the ADHD that most individual sellers will give me my ridiculous offering price just to get rid of me. This one time I was buying a used van for Gram to use for hauling her products around town and I ended up actually feeling sorry for the guy I bought it from.

“Look, Mr. Johnson. If I just give it to you will you shut up and go away?” he said.

“Well, I answered, can you tell me when was the last time you rotated the tires?” I asked.

Mother says I talk more than a woman. She tells me that I’m a chatter box and that I don’t hold conversations like a man does, I’m like a woman. Maybe that’s why women like me so much and I end up often married. Maybe I end up often married because I propose so much.

Actually I have been the proposer only four of the ten times. The other six were either marriage upon proposal by the woman, or accidents. Have you ever accidentally gotten married?

Anyway, my responsibilities with my job out to Mooners Compost Plant are mostly of the titular variety. Like I’m the King of compost, but I have a parliament and local government who do all of the actual work for me. I get to play King Solomon when there are employee disputes, and I get to enjoy all of the accolades when we win an award or are recognized for being good guys.

I hate employee disputes. Passionately. But I developed a method of solving them quickly, which has proven quite effective. Here’s what I do. When they come to Gnat to make an appointment to bitch at each other in front of me, Gnat tells them, “OK, you have an appointment at 10 am Wednesday of next week.” Then she hands them a one-page leaflet. “Read this before you come to the meeting.”

The leaflet is a modernized account of King Salomon and the baby with two mothers story. Then when they meet with me I start the meeting by saying, “Just so that you know, these meetings always end the same way. Neither of you will be happy with my solution, and I’ll think less of both of you for it. Now, who wants to be the first to get cut in half?”

I try to hire adult persons to work for me. Then I treat them fairly and with gratitude. I started this King Solomon dealie maybe thirty years ago and it still works like a charm. Most of my employee problems end when a third employee overhears the squabble and says, “Look, you two. Have you heard about the “King Solomon” method of employee relations conflict resolution?”

OK, that was a major fucking digression. All of this dealing with car salesmen has put my ADHD at full DEFCON Alert. What I mean to say about cars is that I don’t haul shit for work or visit many job sites for the erosion control business, so I can pretty much drive whatever car I want.

What I want to drive is one of the new Porsche Panamera models. Holy shit is that a nice car. Big roominess, big power and a really big price tag. Gigantic fucking price tag.

We already have one high-priced luxury car in the house, and Gram’s Ferrari is it. That’s enough as well. When I need driving thrills I can borrow her car or drive my old GTO. Squirt loves the GTO and is constantly begging me to burn rubber. “Smoke le tyres, Senor Mooner,” she’ll say.

She loves to sit with her back feet on the bucket seat and her front paws on the dash, her cute little nose pressed tight to the windsheild. I move the seat all the way forward to allow her little body access. And she’s strapped in with the custom driving harness I had made for her.

Anyway, I’m going to get dressed and go try to buy a new Chevy Traverse. It’s the cheapest thing that fits my big frame in comfort and has a safety rating I find acceptable. I’m going to tell the salesman he better act right or I’ll post about him here to the bloggie.

If he fucks up I’ll sick the Reckmonster on his ass!

Manana, y’all. Drink Carta Blanca beer responsibly.

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One Response to “King Solomon Rules; New Car Blues”

  1. A Chevy Traverse, Mooner???? You think I’m ridin’ around in that with you when I become # 12? No. I’m just sayin, you’d better get a convertible of some sort because I like to have my hair flying around in the wind when it’s sunny out. You can ride around in your Traverse alone. I’ll keep my Japanese sports sedan, for practical purposes. But, when we go “out” – there’d better be some kind of drop top. That said, I got your back on any rogue Traverse salesmen…you just say the word, love…say the word!!!

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