Any publicity is good publicity, particularly for an aging teen idol whose name no one recognizes and whose career no one can recall. However, I’m not so sure that the 30-somethings who are dying from drug overdoses realize that once they over-dose, they will not be around to enjoy the sudden spate of media attention.
No one can handle the unsupervised use of drugs: no one, but most especially a person who is addicted to that kind of drug. It is a matter of time before the drug leads to an over-dose, the majority of which are fatal. Michael Jackson used drugs to cope with his life physically, mentally, and emotionally. Because he had walked that line for so many years, he probably thought that he would be the drug-dose death exception, but instead he became yet another drug-dose statistic. Tragically, he is no longer around to enjoy the resurgence of his career, as well as the financial benefits of his death for his children’s future. Death is the ultimate price to pay for trying to cheat it.
A poem dedicated To an Athlete Dying Young (A.E. Housman) memorializes the loss of life far too soon for an athlete:
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay, 10
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose
The poet’s point is that dying young avoids dealing with the issues of living too long: the acclaim comes at a young age (early though the laurel grows), but it dies too soon (it withers quicker than the rose). In today’s society, we expect a childhood career to become a lifetime of work, but that does not happen more often than it is accomplished.
Today’s stars are far more often tomorrow’s has-beens. Getting through the intervening years is seldom accomplished by any other than the most gifted, the most talented, the most determined media stars. Donnie and Marie are huge today, as they were during the younger years, but even they had to weather the “forgotten years,” when it was, “Oh, yeah. Weren’t they TV stars back in the day?” To push past the loss of brand recognition and re-establish a career is the exception, not the rule, because there are far more new faces standing in line waiting for their chance to hit the big time – and willing to do so at beginning wages, rather than superstar megabucks. For any star who thinks s/he is one-of-a-kind and irreplaceable, just look at Idol, where a new face takes the center stage every year, while last year’s winner becomes a distant memory.
Or recall Jon Gosselin, who thought he was going to be at the top of the food chain because he believed his own hype. His wife and children were the best part of his life, but he was too near-sighted to see that. He lived the publicity-hounded life that he thought would make him a star, but he became the butt of his own paparazzi posse. As quickly as he took himself to the top, he bottomed out, and everything he thought he wanted is gone. When we believe our own hype, it hurts even more to realize that no one else does.
Far too many of us live our lives at the highest income bracket of which we are capable, forgetting that old adage to save for a rainy day. When we are young, we are especially impressionable, particularly when we are paid huge amounts of money and can afford to live however we want to live. The cast of Jersey Shore is a good example of this syndrome: they have each created a new persona, a self that is a media star now, but what happens when next year’s cast replaces this year’s cast? How long can this group of young people milk the people’s gullibility and acceptance of their lifestyle, their language, and their portrayal of stereotypes of what many others want to outgrow? Once this cast is living their new lifestyle, they have to maintain it, and where is the money going to come from even a year from now, much less five years down the road? They are living a niche they have created, by definition a small, restricted space, not a career.
What’s cutting edge technology today is passé tomorrow as the new quickly becomes the old and we all go looking for another new.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers 15
After earth has stopped the ears
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Big Box Break-through
Friday mornings, I leave b'fast with "the girls" and head for the big box all-in-one that's on the way home. My goal is to get the basics bought and pick up the oft-used smaller items at the local market. The problem, however, with shopping at 7 am is that, although there is always a greeter guarding the doorway, the cashiers apparently don't arrive until 8 am. Thus, I am forced to use the self-service scanner system, aptly named because each time I approach the monster, I hiss -- SSSS!
Usually items with a barcode scan -- eventually. When I get a price result on the first try, I scream as if I've won the daily lottery!! Other days, I get the "Step away from the scanner" reaction, with flashing lights and tones to alert the person manning the supervisory station at the head of the scanners that someone is not respecting the equipment. A yell in my direction, "Stop! I'll be there in a minue," alerts me to the fact that I may have to begin anew not through any fault of mine, but because the machine knows that I have no clue what I'm doing and likes to screw with me.
As elitist as this sounds, had I wanted to be a super-store cashier, I would have majored in scanning. Put me in front of a classroom filled with terrifying teens and I'm in my element; make me use the self-service scanner system and I drop to my knees, defeated.
This morning, it was the produce that threw me for a loop. I begged the service rep at the supervision booth for directions, which she kindly provided: "Just key in the code." Yes, that was ... helpful ... if I knew which code (not one piece of my produce had a code) and, of course, how to "key" it in. I tried the zen philosophy of check-out, stilling myself into my calm place and waiting for the code and the key process to present itself, but, alas, that system doesn't work at the SSSS.
With a line building up behind me, I again asked for assistance, this time adding that there were no codes for me to key in. "Sure, there are," came the confident reply. "They are on each piece of produce." I assured her that MY produce had no such codes, and after forcefully locking her work station, she sauntered in my direction, sharing that look of "oh, for crying out loud" with the patrons lined up behind me. I felt vindicated when she discovered there were no codes (and almost wanted to use the "na na na na na" happy dance), but she recovered quickly. "Just look them up!"
That works if one, I know the look-up process and two, I know what's in the bag. Ever notice how peaches and nectarines look alike? Or cucumbers and zucchini? Or several different kinds of potatoes, the specific names of which I don't know because "white" or "red" have always been enough information. I honestly don't know where the potatoes are grown, but some of them have regional names! I got the bananas on the first try, but no points for that small success.
Thankfully, she finally understood that the machine was winning this war and it wasn't pretty. She "helped" me to look up the codes, input the codes, wait for the machine to accept them, then handed me the product to put into the bag. When I asked her to wait a sec because the bags were full and I didn't know if I was allowed to remove them from the pressure sensor without setting off yet another alarm, she explained that "IF I had placed the items on the conveyor, we wouldn't have to ask that question." Grudingly, she allowed me to put the filled bags into the cart, but when "we" tried to input another item, the register locked up, a common occurrence in my experience -- but I hadn't caused it this time. Hurrah!
My credit card went through lightning fast, the only part of the experience that was positive. Now that I've been personally trained in how to use the SSSS, perhaps I can get a job at the Big Box store, standing at the supervisor's booth and showing off my scanning superiorty to other technologically challenged senior shoppers.
Usually items with a barcode scan -- eventually. When I get a price result on the first try, I scream as if I've won the daily lottery!! Other days, I get the "Step away from the scanner" reaction, with flashing lights and tones to alert the person manning the supervisory station at the head of the scanners that someone is not respecting the equipment. A yell in my direction, "Stop! I'll be there in a minue," alerts me to the fact that I may have to begin anew not through any fault of mine, but because the machine knows that I have no clue what I'm doing and likes to screw with me.
As elitist as this sounds, had I wanted to be a super-store cashier, I would have majored in scanning. Put me in front of a classroom filled with terrifying teens and I'm in my element; make me use the self-service scanner system and I drop to my knees, defeated.
This morning, it was the produce that threw me for a loop. I begged the service rep at the supervision booth for directions, which she kindly provided: "Just key in the code." Yes, that was ... helpful ... if I knew which code (not one piece of my produce had a code) and, of course, how to "key" it in. I tried the zen philosophy of check-out, stilling myself into my calm place and waiting for the code and the key process to present itself, but, alas, that system doesn't work at the SSSS.
With a line building up behind me, I again asked for assistance, this time adding that there were no codes for me to key in. "Sure, there are," came the confident reply. "They are on each piece of produce." I assured her that MY produce had no such codes, and after forcefully locking her work station, she sauntered in my direction, sharing that look of "oh, for crying out loud" with the patrons lined up behind me. I felt vindicated when she discovered there were no codes (and almost wanted to use the "na na na na na" happy dance), but she recovered quickly. "Just look them up!"
That works if one, I know the look-up process and two, I know what's in the bag. Ever notice how peaches and nectarines look alike? Or cucumbers and zucchini? Or several different kinds of potatoes, the specific names of which I don't know because "white" or "red" have always been enough information. I honestly don't know where the potatoes are grown, but some of them have regional names! I got the bananas on the first try, but no points for that small success.
Thankfully, she finally understood that the machine was winning this war and it wasn't pretty. She "helped" me to look up the codes, input the codes, wait for the machine to accept them, then handed me the product to put into the bag. When I asked her to wait a sec because the bags were full and I didn't know if I was allowed to remove them from the pressure sensor without setting off yet another alarm, she explained that "IF I had placed the items on the conveyor, we wouldn't have to ask that question." Grudingly, she allowed me to put the filled bags into the cart, but when "we" tried to input another item, the register locked up, a common occurrence in my experience -- but I hadn't caused it this time. Hurrah!
My credit card went through lightning fast, the only part of the experience that was positive. Now that I've been personally trained in how to use the SSSS, perhaps I can get a job at the Big Box store, standing at the supervisor's booth and showing off my scanning superiorty to other technologically challenged senior shoppers.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Thinking About Thinking
It is easy to think in the "no duh" realm, but challenging to break out of that box and think for one's self on a higher plane, thoughts that, perhaps, no one else has had. For me personally, this week has been challenging as I don't believe in putting all my eggs into the skill 'n drill basket at the college level. The textbook is the jumping off point, not the end of the rainbow. Students, on the other hand, need the security of knowing that if they read the textbook and complete all the assignments therein, a "good grade" will result.
If it were that easy, there would be no self-help books on the bookstore shelves as everyone would own a dozen!
Thus, when I work with writing students, I spend fully a third of the semester on the thinking process, encouraging students to come up with several ideas, discard those that won't work, keep what might work, and then do the hard work: create an outline that clearly delineates a beginning, a middle, and an end. If a student cannot visualize the basic structure or realize what the main idea of the entire essay is and where it's going to end, no amount of writing time, effort, and energy is going to turn the idea into anything worthwhile.
In one of my current reads, J.D. Robb's latest, Fantasy in Death, Roarke makes the following observation: "You never know what you might find when you're looking for something else, do you?" (317) Of course, this one sentence captures my writing philosophy: instead of living in the land of I Can't, how about visiting the land of What If once in a while? What if you pick up the pen, the pencil, the laptop and just start writing? What if you think of 8-10 potential ideas from within, rather than limiting your choices to one from the list in the textbook? What if you dare to live differently, think differently, respond differently than the other students and stand out by being outstanding? What if you just do it, instead of talking yourself out of it?
College is about going beyond where you are; if you are content to replicate past school experiences, both the successes and the failures, why waste the time, the money, and the energy to attend college? You already have failed the course if all you can do is what you've always done. At the college level, students are more often rewarded for original thinking than they are for playing it safe, but safe is so much easier! Most of us feel far more comfortable on the well-traveled path than we do taking the unknown road through the woods (thanks, Robert Frost, for allowing me to bend your words to suit my needs).
Adult students are more inhibited by the fear of failure than younger students because youth allows us to make mistakes, laugh at ourselves, and then move on. At the adult level, fear of being judged inadequate by a classroom instructor can be devastating, especially if the student has always been successful in the past, both in the classroom and in a career. There is a deep-seated resentment of the college professor, the "know it all" who thinks s/he can tell an otherwise successful adult that on this paper, s/he needs to rethink, rewrite, and resubmit for a better grade. Students seldom realize that before one becomes a college professor, the individiual first has to spend quality time in the classroom as a student; after all, very few college professors do not earn both a bachelor's degree and a master's degree, and it is becoming more common to also complete the requirements for a doctorate. You can't walk away from too many classes that are too hard and still achieve those higher levels of educational accomplishment.
Believe me, the college professor who has all A's is a rare individual because we all have our individual strengths and weaknesses. We choose to enhance our strengths and turn them into earnings potential, but to get there, we also have to conquer our weaknesses. For me, it's always about the math! I know I would understand it better were math to be taught in English, but using mathology to teach the subject is as effective for me as using ancient Hebrew! To accomplish my professional goals, however, I had to include successes in the math department, and I did. I grew up believing in whatever it takes is what it takes, so that's how I live my life.
It's the half-way point of the semester. Far too many students are walking away from the weeks they have invested in the coursework and the list of reasons for that decision is long. In the land of What If, the approach would differ: What If I worked with a tutor? What If I showed up for office hours? What If I dedicated two uninterrupted hours to learning what I don't know? What If I did whatever it takes to make it to the end of the semester, rather than giving up on myself?
As the stress enters the stratosphere, it is time to rethink, to think outside the box, to burn the box and see what happens without the usual safeguards. Take a step forward: you never know what might come of it.
If it were that easy, there would be no self-help books on the bookstore shelves as everyone would own a dozen!
Thus, when I work with writing students, I spend fully a third of the semester on the thinking process, encouraging students to come up with several ideas, discard those that won't work, keep what might work, and then do the hard work: create an outline that clearly delineates a beginning, a middle, and an end. If a student cannot visualize the basic structure or realize what the main idea of the entire essay is and where it's going to end, no amount of writing time, effort, and energy is going to turn the idea into anything worthwhile.
In one of my current reads, J.D. Robb's latest, Fantasy in Death, Roarke makes the following observation: "You never know what you might find when you're looking for something else, do you?" (317) Of course, this one sentence captures my writing philosophy: instead of living in the land of I Can't, how about visiting the land of What If once in a while? What if you pick up the pen, the pencil, the laptop and just start writing? What if you think of 8-10 potential ideas from within, rather than limiting your choices to one from the list in the textbook? What if you dare to live differently, think differently, respond differently than the other students and stand out by being outstanding? What if you just do it, instead of talking yourself out of it?
College is about going beyond where you are; if you are content to replicate past school experiences, both the successes and the failures, why waste the time, the money, and the energy to attend college? You already have failed the course if all you can do is what you've always done. At the college level, students are more often rewarded for original thinking than they are for playing it safe, but safe is so much easier! Most of us feel far more comfortable on the well-traveled path than we do taking the unknown road through the woods (thanks, Robert Frost, for allowing me to bend your words to suit my needs).
Adult students are more inhibited by the fear of failure than younger students because youth allows us to make mistakes, laugh at ourselves, and then move on. At the adult level, fear of being judged inadequate by a classroom instructor can be devastating, especially if the student has always been successful in the past, both in the classroom and in a career. There is a deep-seated resentment of the college professor, the "know it all" who thinks s/he can tell an otherwise successful adult that on this paper, s/he needs to rethink, rewrite, and resubmit for a better grade. Students seldom realize that before one becomes a college professor, the individiual first has to spend quality time in the classroom as a student; after all, very few college professors do not earn both a bachelor's degree and a master's degree, and it is becoming more common to also complete the requirements for a doctorate. You can't walk away from too many classes that are too hard and still achieve those higher levels of educational accomplishment.
Believe me, the college professor who has all A's is a rare individual because we all have our individual strengths and weaknesses. We choose to enhance our strengths and turn them into earnings potential, but to get there, we also have to conquer our weaknesses. For me, it's always about the math! I know I would understand it better were math to be taught in English, but using mathology to teach the subject is as effective for me as using ancient Hebrew! To accomplish my professional goals, however, I had to include successes in the math department, and I did. I grew up believing in whatever it takes is what it takes, so that's how I live my life.
It's the half-way point of the semester. Far too many students are walking away from the weeks they have invested in the coursework and the list of reasons for that decision is long. In the land of What If, the approach would differ: What If I worked with a tutor? What If I showed up for office hours? What If I dedicated two uninterrupted hours to learning what I don't know? What If I did whatever it takes to make it to the end of the semester, rather than giving up on myself?
As the stress enters the stratosphere, it is time to rethink, to think outside the box, to burn the box and see what happens without the usual safeguards. Take a step forward: you never know what might come of it.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Working Hard at Love
Jake chose Vienna. Prior to that revelation, he had to send Tenley on her way to what lies ahead for her life. She wanted to know why, why, why … because she loves him so much and would do anything for him. Therein lies the problem Jake could not put his finger on. He knew that he loved Tenley, but there was something, that little niggling thought in the back of his brain that something didn’t fit. As Jake explained his decision, he said that there is just something about Vienna that completes him, that encourages him just to be who he is and makes him feel alive – an absence that he felt with Tenley, all the while knowing that she should have been perfect for him, a war between his head and his heart.
Love is the absence of doing anything for another person; it is, however, the joy of doing it with him/her. When one person in a relationship will do anything for the other person, it becomes a tally sheet: I did this, this, and this, while you? Well, you didn’t do as much as I did, so you must not love me … enough. Once that mindset exists in a relationship, there is nothing that the perceived slacker can ever do to balance the “how much” scale because it will never be enough. The relationship has been defined in terms of deeds, rather than thoughts and feelings.
Business relationships must be defined in terms of what employees do, how hard an individual works to earn the salary that goes along with the job. Seldom is it true that the harder one works, the more salary one earns, but it is usually true that if it is perceived that an employee is not working hard enough by someone who shares the space, that perception becomes the workplace reality, often a perception created by a casual comment here and there, water-cooler chatter, girls’ room gossip. When it comes time to find a scapegoat or downsize a position, the one who is labeled with the perception of inequality is let go, while the one who may be simply protecting his/her own failure to have confidence in the ability to perform well for a sustained period of time remains on the job.
The problem with this dynamic, with this personal ethics system, is that the good worker is now gone, so the person who equates how hard s/he works as a reason to be retained, rather than how well, has to find another target in order to continue to guard the secret that s/he may not be the best worker, but the best manipulator.
In a marriage, this unevenness tears apart the seams of the relationship because there is always a competition to see who deserves to stay married based on how hard each partner works to keep the relationship alive. With this kind of performance pressure, a marriage partner can only survive for so long. Marriage should be effortless, a balance that allows each individual to thrive, not just strive. It doesn’t take too many years together before each partner realizes that no matter how hard one of the two works, it will never be enough. The spouse who unknowingly signs a performance contract, instead of a marriage license, soon realizes that the relationship is doomed and goes looking for something to replace it.
In real life, it is not how hard anyone works to get the job done, but the product that results from the hard work. Working hard is simply nailing one foot to the floor, leaving the other foot to expend energy in endless circles. At the end of the day, there may have been a lot of motion, but no real movement. In a marriage, the constant motion becomes a subterfuge for real feelings. Anyone who has ever been in a relationship knows that it’s the feelings that matter, feelings that occur naturally, effortlessly, and with complete freedom to be whatever they are. It isn’t hard work to love someone, it’s the absence of hard work, and if anyone ever has to work hard to convince another person to “pick me,” the relationship is doomed.
Love is the absence of doing anything for another person; it is, however, the joy of doing it with him/her. When one person in a relationship will do anything for the other person, it becomes a tally sheet: I did this, this, and this, while you? Well, you didn’t do as much as I did, so you must not love me … enough. Once that mindset exists in a relationship, there is nothing that the perceived slacker can ever do to balance the “how much” scale because it will never be enough. The relationship has been defined in terms of deeds, rather than thoughts and feelings.
Business relationships must be defined in terms of what employees do, how hard an individual works to earn the salary that goes along with the job. Seldom is it true that the harder one works, the more salary one earns, but it is usually true that if it is perceived that an employee is not working hard enough by someone who shares the space, that perception becomes the workplace reality, often a perception created by a casual comment here and there, water-cooler chatter, girls’ room gossip. When it comes time to find a scapegoat or downsize a position, the one who is labeled with the perception of inequality is let go, while the one who may be simply protecting his/her own failure to have confidence in the ability to perform well for a sustained period of time remains on the job.
The problem with this dynamic, with this personal ethics system, is that the good worker is now gone, so the person who equates how hard s/he works as a reason to be retained, rather than how well, has to find another target in order to continue to guard the secret that s/he may not be the best worker, but the best manipulator.
In a marriage, this unevenness tears apart the seams of the relationship because there is always a competition to see who deserves to stay married based on how hard each partner works to keep the relationship alive. With this kind of performance pressure, a marriage partner can only survive for so long. Marriage should be effortless, a balance that allows each individual to thrive, not just strive. It doesn’t take too many years together before each partner realizes that no matter how hard one of the two works, it will never be enough. The spouse who unknowingly signs a performance contract, instead of a marriage license, soon realizes that the relationship is doomed and goes looking for something to replace it.
In real life, it is not how hard anyone works to get the job done, but the product that results from the hard work. Working hard is simply nailing one foot to the floor, leaving the other foot to expend energy in endless circles. At the end of the day, there may have been a lot of motion, but no real movement. In a marriage, the constant motion becomes a subterfuge for real feelings. Anyone who has ever been in a relationship knows that it’s the feelings that matter, feelings that occur naturally, effortlessly, and with complete freedom to be whatever they are. It isn’t hard work to love someone, it’s the absence of hard work, and if anyone ever has to work hard to convince another person to “pick me,” the relationship is doomed.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
RAVing about My New Car
If anyone had told me in the past 3 years that I would happily drive a new car off a local Toyota dealership (I-10), I would have flown into a rage! In July 2007, I was at the same dealership to purchase a small Toyota truck -- and ripped up the contract and left. In the process of trying to leave, I was verbally assaulted by an employee, who held onto the car and would not let my friend drive away. Long story short, the owner of the dealership called, offered to honor the deal we had made that was completely changed by the finance manager, and added a bit of incentive. I drove back to the dealership, sat outside to sign the papers, and vowed upon my return NEVER to go back there again. And, I generously gave them all the free publicity they deserved as the WORST dealership ever. Not surprising, many other locals not only agreed, but added their horror stories to mine. If you lie to and try to cheat one customer, it's because you've lied to and cheated many, many more.
That was then; this is now. I hurt my right knee at Thanksgiving and it's causing me issues, continuing to deteriorate in spite of the ortho specialist's pronouncement that the x-rays showed no injury; thus, there is nothing wrong with my knee. Yes, there is, and driving my 5-speed manual transmission has beome a physical issue. Additionally, when the weather turned bad so many times in the last 4 months, I could not get to work! My little 4-banger was too light on the road and didn't have the power to make it up the grades between home and job site. I made the decision to trade in my truck, sell my Camry, and become a one-car family.
I began my research in December and thought that maybe a Toyota RAV4 was the vehicle for me. Bigger than some, smaller than others, but available in a V-6, my preference. I looked on-line for both new and used, comparing outlets all over SoCal. I found a used vehicle at the dreaded dealership, but actively continued looking anywhere else, rather than go back "there." As circumstances have evolved with Toyota, it became a propitious time to push my search into gear, and this time the worst dealership was my best option, so I made the call and set up an appointment. I told the salesman with whom I spoke, "Just don't lie to me," and he promised that he would be straight. And he was, sort of.
I test drove a few used vehicles, including my well-loved 4-Runner and another one that just felt wrong. I cannot explain why, but I refused to test-drive it off the lot because something was way wrong with what I felt behind the wheel. Realizing that I would pay within $5k for a used car, and having been assured over the phone that I could purchase a RAV4-10 V-6 for $25, I directed the salesman to take me to those vehicles.
Of course, the one he had told me was available was not, so I got that hinky feeling up my back of "here we go again." I thanked him for his time and asked him to give me a call when he had on the lot what we had discussed prior to my arrival. He intervened and had me sit in and test drive that model in a different vehicle, and I was sold: it was a perfect fit. And I, still assuming that he meant that he could put me into that vehicle at $25k, went inside to do the paperwork that would culminate in a purchase.
The first figure he wrote on the paper was $5k higher than what we agreed on, so I stopped him. He explained that yes, he could get me what I wanted -- in cloth interior, fewer options, yada yada yada, and I said, "Fine. Call me when that car is on the lot." We all know how negotiations go, starting with a $500 drop in the price -- and that was not going to fly with me. When he got down to, "I can make this happen for $26," I was ecstatic, but not so much when he returned with paperwork that listed the selling price as $26,999. When I challenged him on his honesty, he clarified that when he said $26, everyone knows that he meant "$26,999." I looked him square in the eye and told him I'd been there before and that is why I walked off this lot the last time. "If you meant $27, just say so. If you say $26, then give me $26."
Long story short: I drove it home. That one. The fully-loaded, all leather interior, over-the-top RAV4-10, in white.
My new RAV has heated seats in the front. A back-up camera. A rearview mirror that automatically adjusts at night. Rear seats that flip totally down with a pull of a lever. A full-sized console between the 2 plush back seats that recline. A storage compartment under the back deck. One of those fancy hardshell covers for the spare tire. A sun roof. A 6-CD player, an incredible radio, and 6 speakers. An I-POD dock. A computer outlet. Of course, all the standard goodies, like cruise control, as well as 4-wheel drive and 2-wheel drive for inclement weather, and a towing package.
Did I mention it's a V-6 and totally hauls ass on the open road?
The dealership redeemed itself with an entirely new management structure that responded to "numerous past complaints," according to the new manager, who talked with me personally. He was impressed that I did return to this dealership, and I would go back if I ever decide to buy another car. Hopefully, this will be my last car as it blends the best of both worlds: I have my luxurious passenger compartment, my spacious truck, and the power to go where I want to go regardless of the weather.
That was then; this is now. I hurt my right knee at Thanksgiving and it's causing me issues, continuing to deteriorate in spite of the ortho specialist's pronouncement that the x-rays showed no injury; thus, there is nothing wrong with my knee. Yes, there is, and driving my 5-speed manual transmission has beome a physical issue. Additionally, when the weather turned bad so many times in the last 4 months, I could not get to work! My little 4-banger was too light on the road and didn't have the power to make it up the grades between home and job site. I made the decision to trade in my truck, sell my Camry, and become a one-car family.
I began my research in December and thought that maybe a Toyota RAV4 was the vehicle for me. Bigger than some, smaller than others, but available in a V-6, my preference. I looked on-line for both new and used, comparing outlets all over SoCal. I found a used vehicle at the dreaded dealership, but actively continued looking anywhere else, rather than go back "there." As circumstances have evolved with Toyota, it became a propitious time to push my search into gear, and this time the worst dealership was my best option, so I made the call and set up an appointment. I told the salesman with whom I spoke, "Just don't lie to me," and he promised that he would be straight. And he was, sort of.
I test drove a few used vehicles, including my well-loved 4-Runner and another one that just felt wrong. I cannot explain why, but I refused to test-drive it off the lot because something was way wrong with what I felt behind the wheel. Realizing that I would pay within $5k for a used car, and having been assured over the phone that I could purchase a RAV4-10 V-6 for $25, I directed the salesman to take me to those vehicles.
Of course, the one he had told me was available was not, so I got that hinky feeling up my back of "here we go again." I thanked him for his time and asked him to give me a call when he had on the lot what we had discussed prior to my arrival. He intervened and had me sit in and test drive that model in a different vehicle, and I was sold: it was a perfect fit. And I, still assuming that he meant that he could put me into that vehicle at $25k, went inside to do the paperwork that would culminate in a purchase.
The first figure he wrote on the paper was $5k higher than what we agreed on, so I stopped him. He explained that yes, he could get me what I wanted -- in cloth interior, fewer options, yada yada yada, and I said, "Fine. Call me when that car is on the lot." We all know how negotiations go, starting with a $500 drop in the price -- and that was not going to fly with me. When he got down to, "I can make this happen for $26," I was ecstatic, but not so much when he returned with paperwork that listed the selling price as $26,999. When I challenged him on his honesty, he clarified that when he said $26, everyone knows that he meant "$26,999." I looked him square in the eye and told him I'd been there before and that is why I walked off this lot the last time. "If you meant $27, just say so. If you say $26, then give me $26."
Long story short: I drove it home. That one. The fully-loaded, all leather interior, over-the-top RAV4-10, in white.
My new RAV has heated seats in the front. A back-up camera. A rearview mirror that automatically adjusts at night. Rear seats that flip totally down with a pull of a lever. A full-sized console between the 2 plush back seats that recline. A storage compartment under the back deck. One of those fancy hardshell covers for the spare tire. A sun roof. A 6-CD player, an incredible radio, and 6 speakers. An I-POD dock. A computer outlet. Of course, all the standard goodies, like cruise control, as well as 4-wheel drive and 2-wheel drive for inclement weather, and a towing package.
Did I mention it's a V-6 and totally hauls ass on the open road?
The dealership redeemed itself with an entirely new management structure that responded to "numerous past complaints," according to the new manager, who talked with me personally. He was impressed that I did return to this dealership, and I would go back if I ever decide to buy another car. Hopefully, this will be my last car as it blends the best of both worlds: I have my luxurious passenger compartment, my spacious truck, and the power to go where I want to go regardless of the weather.
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