The car buying experience is bizarre. I whisper to M that we should have practiced for this, should’ve done something to prepare. But we didn’t.
I sit in a giant chair, looking over Shane, our friendly salesman who offers carefully-crafted slices of his story. He tells us about his two girls, the old country (Iran), his time in Kansas.
I still can’t believe I’m here in this warehouse of a room while it is gorgeous autumn outside.
There are trees, a stable of automobiles, a pirate ship on a rocky sea, and islands of desks with buccaneers arguing over treasure chests of money.
shewhodaresnothing 