“Kelly Clarksons’”

Recent travails at a toy store reminded me of an issue I had back in the ‘90s.

It was a Saturday, I’d been working in the yard, and was a tad sweaty. I was wearing old clothes, and an old pair of combat boots. The boots were stained ‘green’ from mowing and smelled faintly of ‘onion grass’. I was driving my 10 year old beat up blue Ford pickup truck.

For some reason, I was about 20 miles from home, and happened to be near a ‘Pontiac’ dealer. My lovely bride was interested in a Minivan they made called a ‘Transport’. So I stopped by to inquire about the van.

I walked around the dealership for a good 15 minutes looking at cars.
The normally ubiquitous salesmen were not to be found. Normally you can’t walk by a car lot without having a salesman harangue you.
I finally approached what I thought was a salesman and asked if I could get information about the van.
He immediately gave me a ‘questionnaire’ to determine what I could afford. I’ve purchased multiple vehicles in multiple ways. This was the first and only time I’ve ever had to fill out a form to talk to a salesman.
So I filled it out.
At the time my lovely wife and I were both doing rather well. She was well along in her DOD career, and I was already a traveling consultant.
When I handed the form back to the salesman, he almost crapped his pants when he saw our income.
He was extremely apologetic and was more than willing to help me find a new car!

“Never mind, I wouldn’t buy a car, or have it serviced here.”
I then walked out.