So we bought a new car.
My wife and I thought we’d stroll down the dozen or so car-yards of Main Rd, Cardiff (NSW Australia) and have a bit of a squizz at what’s on offer and for how much and in what colours.
Buyers beware! A car salesman roams aound like a lion. A sort of stealthy lion in sunglasses and a hat. Dressed almost perfectly (the socks give them away, you see).
As I recall, we had just finished strolling around the selection of late-model used cars, about to head home when we struck upon the idea of enquiring about a couple of the new Toyotas out the front. So we made for the showroom, partly to make our enquiry but mostly to get out of the heat. After that it gets a bit hazy. There was something about a lion in bad socks and the next thing I know we were signing some sort of contract. Somewhere along the line we were convinced far beyond a shadow of a doubt that the new Corolla was the only car for us. And so it remains.
I was once of the opinion that I would never buy a new car. Waste of money, I foolishly thought. But that was before our “encounter” and subsequent enlightenment. I can’t really pass on any sort of logical rationale, except to suggest that anyone whose faith in new cars haswaivered somewhat really should book themselves in for a session with one of these salespeople.
Oh yes, they smell great too (the new cars, not the salespeople).