song two
It has been a dream of long standing to make a car salesman cry during a test drive. Sunday, that dream came true.
In the early days of the marriage, when he was playing GT3 on the playstation and the Japanese still hadn't figured out U.S. emission standards on their rally cars, we would talk about the dream test drive. It had two key ingredients: first, the car would have to have racing pedigre with at least 220 brake horsepower. Then, we'd need a slightly dim sales guy, the more patrionizing the better.
We imagined we'd do a sedate lap around the dealership; maybe take it out on the freeway in the name of "varied driving." We'd let the sales guy run through his patter about safety features and gas milage, lulling him into a false since of security while we found an empty parking lot.
From there, the fantasy kind of wandered off into the realm of tire smoke, slaloms and brake-checks; Bullit on a small scale. At the end, the sales guy was always a quivering mass of nerves and in need of a toilet. Good times, good times.
And while we went on to buy two cars (and go on countless more test drives), we never were accompanied by a sales guy, until Sunday.
We'd gone to Carmax on Alameda to casually browse. They've always got Minis on hand, and I've always got Minis on the brain. But parked next to this week's assortment was a brand-spankin'-new Subaru WRX sedan in Rally Blue. Nothing fancy, not the STi, but still a turbocharged, 227 snorting horses monster sedan. With less than 6,000 miles on the odometer. And they only wanted $22,900 for it.
We do not buy the WRX at this time.
We do take the WRX out for a test drive.
The goofy salesguy climbs in the back seat, prattling on about the rally heritage of the car and how it's more than just a Subaru and look, there's even a Momo shift knob (he was very impressed by the Momo shift knob for some reason). Adam eases the car onto I-25 and takes it down to the Jefferson exit. Adam tells the kid to buckle up. He knows what's coming, I know what's coming. The poor kid in the back?
We take the car into an empty parking lot off Jefferson. Adam stomps on the throttle. The car comes to life. The kid in the back whimpers. "Um, you know, it's like the Pottery Barn," he says, but we're already feeling the maximum Gs of a panic stop. The kid does not finish his sentence. Adam drops the hammer again and throws the car into a full four-wheel drift. The kid actually screams, "WHOAAAAAAAA!"
Another panic stop and we switch. "Now, she's gonna be more sedate, right?" the kid asks as I get comfy in the driver's seat. I adjust the mirror, make sure I can reach all the pedals. I give him thirty seconds to calm down. And then I go off on my own test drive, which involves dumping the clutch at 4500 rpms and taking off in boost.
The tires are squealing like crazy, the sales guy is clutching the door handle and has a hand planted on the roof to brace himself and I haven't even thrown the steering wheel into full lock. I whip the car around as tight and as fast as it will go in a circle, ostensibly to test the turning radius, but really, I just like the way the rubber looks on pavement and the kid is shouting something about not wanting to die.
That's my cue and I nose the car back onto the city streets and take a leisurely pace back to the dealership. During the ride, Adam and I murmur comments to each other. "Gearing's awfully tall." "Crazy turbo lag." "Less than six thousand miles on it!" while the sales guy whimpers softly in the back.
We do not buy the WRX at this time.
We do actually talk about it, until we run numbers on it and agree that while it'd be fun, it's also fun to do things like, oh, eat and take a pass.
"How many people do you think that guy's told about the test drive?" Adam asks before we go to bed.
"Oh, it's either nobody, because he's still freaked out, or everybody." I say.
"Because he's still freaked out," Adam finishes.
"You realize, we lived the dream?"
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
As a post script, the next day, the sales guy calls and leaves a message on our machine: "Hi, it's ----- from Carmax, you know, the guy from that crazy test drive?"
Feels goooooooooooood.
In the early days of the marriage, when he was playing GT3 on the playstation and the Japanese still hadn't figured out U.S. emission standards on their rally cars, we would talk about the dream test drive. It had two key ingredients: first, the car would have to have racing pedigre with at least 220 brake horsepower. Then, we'd need a slightly dim sales guy, the more patrionizing the better.
We imagined we'd do a sedate lap around the dealership; maybe take it out on the freeway in the name of "varied driving." We'd let the sales guy run through his patter about safety features and gas milage, lulling him into a false since of security while we found an empty parking lot.
From there, the fantasy kind of wandered off into the realm of tire smoke, slaloms and brake-checks; Bullit on a small scale. At the end, the sales guy was always a quivering mass of nerves and in need of a toilet. Good times, good times.
And while we went on to buy two cars (and go on countless more test drives), we never were accompanied by a sales guy, until Sunday.
We'd gone to Carmax on Alameda to casually browse. They've always got Minis on hand, and I've always got Minis on the brain. But parked next to this week's assortment was a brand-spankin'-new Subaru WRX sedan in Rally Blue. Nothing fancy, not the STi, but still a turbocharged, 227 snorting horses monster sedan. With less than 6,000 miles on the odometer. And they only wanted $22,900 for it.
We do not buy the WRX at this time.
We do take the WRX out for a test drive.
The goofy salesguy climbs in the back seat, prattling on about the rally heritage of the car and how it's more than just a Subaru and look, there's even a Momo shift knob (he was very impressed by the Momo shift knob for some reason). Adam eases the car onto I-25 and takes it down to the Jefferson exit. Adam tells the kid to buckle up. He knows what's coming, I know what's coming. The poor kid in the back?
We take the car into an empty parking lot off Jefferson. Adam stomps on the throttle. The car comes to life. The kid in the back whimpers. "Um, you know, it's like the Pottery Barn," he says, but we're already feeling the maximum Gs of a panic stop. The kid does not finish his sentence. Adam drops the hammer again and throws the car into a full four-wheel drift. The kid actually screams, "WHOAAAAAAAA!"
Another panic stop and we switch. "Now, she's gonna be more sedate, right?" the kid asks as I get comfy in the driver's seat. I adjust the mirror, make sure I can reach all the pedals. I give him thirty seconds to calm down. And then I go off on my own test drive, which involves dumping the clutch at 4500 rpms and taking off in boost.
The tires are squealing like crazy, the sales guy is clutching the door handle and has a hand planted on the roof to brace himself and I haven't even thrown the steering wheel into full lock. I whip the car around as tight and as fast as it will go in a circle, ostensibly to test the turning radius, but really, I just like the way the rubber looks on pavement and the kid is shouting something about not wanting to die.
That's my cue and I nose the car back onto the city streets and take a leisurely pace back to the dealership. During the ride, Adam and I murmur comments to each other. "Gearing's awfully tall." "Crazy turbo lag." "Less than six thousand miles on it!" while the sales guy whimpers softly in the back.
We do not buy the WRX at this time.
We do actually talk about it, until we run numbers on it and agree that while it'd be fun, it's also fun to do things like, oh, eat and take a pass.
"How many people do you think that guy's told about the test drive?" Adam asks before we go to bed.
"Oh, it's either nobody, because he's still freaked out, or everybody." I say.
"Because he's still freaked out," Adam finishes.
"You realize, we lived the dream?"
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
As a post script, the next day, the sales guy calls and leaves a message on our machine: "Hi, it's ----- from Carmax, you know, the guy from that crazy test drive?"
Feels goooooooooooood.
1 Comments:
I remember that scene in Polksberg. Glad you got to live it. :)
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