Swimming With Sharks

That day arrived, as it does every few years, when we had to buy another car. We really loved our old one. It squeezed all of us inside, including maybe one or two more. It got great mileage. And was a very nice green. But it gasped its last breath, and it was time for new wheels.

I really dislike car shopping. That bad feeling tingles in my spine from the first moment I pull into the lot and a bunch of salivating salesmen beat each other up as they race out to grab me and offer me help. Instinctively I grab my purse closer to my chest as they lead me around a bunch of cars that are twice as much money as the ones I wanted to see.

The problem was that our old car got great mileage. And we bought it before gas passed $27 a gallon. I was absolutely sure that this time all cars would get even better mileage than they had a few years ago. Everyone knows that we have been "Going Green" for quite awhile now.

So we wandered around with the salivating salesman and I tell him that I need a car that seats six. He points to a giant SUV that seats about twelve. I said it was a very nice gigantic car, but I needed one that got over 20 miles per gallon. Grinning widely, he adjusted his checkered blazer, and steered me toward their new line of high mileage vehicles.

For a moment I inspected the vehicle for Little Tikes stickers. Certainly this could not be a family car. He told me it, indeed, seated six. Three in the front seat and three in the back. Evidently he thought we were circus clowns in need of a new prop, or else my family had been on a hunger strike for the last several years. The car did not seat six. It seated four. And only if they were underfed midgets.

Giving up on that dealer, we piled back into my Mustang, which was getting a bit tight, after several days of being the only family car. Pulling into a different dealer, I held out my hands to stop the onward rush of the next hungry shark. I told this one that we needed a car that seated 6 fully grown, well fed adults and got good mileage. He rubbed his hands and straightened his bowtie and told me he had just what I was looking for.

He brought me to a wonderfully large hybrid SUV that got great mileage. He sat me in it and I drove it around. It was very nice. He showed me the brochure that displayed so many airbags that I could drive off a very large cliff and remain unharmed. Bounce even. Unzipping my purse, I was ready to roll until he showed me the pricetag. A mere $45,000 and it could all be mine.

After I regained consciousness, I explained I was looking for a car. Not a house. Maybe I had confused the car dealer with a real estate agency. Did it have indoor plumbing and a fireplace? He gave me the look only bestowed by people that think you are a bug. With no money. He let me find my own way off the lot while he chased after the next people that were carrying bunches of credit cards.

On the way home we happened to pass a car dealer with the very car we wanted parked right near the street. My husband held tight while I did a 180 on two wheels and we zoomed into the lot. The salesman had on well pressed plaid pants, and his nametag said "Rocky." Sounded like an honest guy to me.

A few minutes later we were ready to sign papers. That’s when he led me to the Shark Tank. A glass enclosed room with the Paper Signing Man seated high on a podium where he could look down his nose at me far down below. I felt like a wayward child looking up at my teacher. Only this teacher wanted my checkbook. But as they insisted this was not a Shark Tank, they continued to circle. But I took a big gulp of air and stood up on my toes. I winked at my husband, because he knew I was really good at swimming with sharks, and we would both get to go home with the best deal possible in our new boat that seats six.