Ken Vickers
Cash for Clunkers: How to get your moneys worth
‘Twas the deal of the century and I had to get in on it. No way was I going to let $4500 pass me by in the Cash for Clunkers program. I told my old chicken truck, a 1988 F-150, what a good truck she had been and how much I would miss her and headed off to Tifton Toyota to buy a new pickup. Here my plan began to unravel because my wife asked where I was going and, not one to lie to my mate, not quite yet, that is; I confessed I was going vehicle shopping. We both went to Tifton Toyota.
The dealer was having a sale so we test drove a Prius and a Camry hybrid. I wanted to test drive a new pickup but ‘you know who’ would have none of that. The salesman looked on his computer and told us the old pickup qualified for the rebate. I said we would think about it and we started home.
I realized I was not going to get a new truck but my wife was going to get a new car so I figured I might as well play it for all it was worth and I do mean play. I told my wife we needed to check the dealers in Valdosta the following weekend before making a decision. I knew that it does wonders for one’s love life when your wife thinks you are going to buy her a new car. What a week! Viva Viagra!
The next Saturday found us in Valdosta along with our son who wanted to shop for tax-free going back to school clothes. While my wife and son were clothes shopping, I was at the Toyota place getting a price on cars.
As I made my way from there to yet another dealer, the Viagra began to fade, allowing the blood supply to reach my brain and I began thinking how much the past week of romance was going to cost me. I was having second thoughts as I pulled onto the lot and was jumped by one of the best salesmen I have ever seen. It wasn’t long before I’d settled on a nice ride, telling the salesman I would return with my wife as soon as she finished shopping for clothes.
Of course, she loved the car I’d picked out and I promised the salesman we would return with the clunker the following Monday morning.
I looked on the computer that afternoon after returning from Valdosta and discovered my clunker would not qualify because I had failed to buy a tag for it the previous year. Now the question became thus; do I fess up and sleep in a cold bed for no telling how long or play it to the hilt?
It is dangerous to deceive anyone from Texas, especially like my wife who is a good shot, but no man likes to sleep with a block of ice so I opted to play it to the hilt and hauled the clunker, chicken feathers and all, to Valdosta.
I played the part of joyful and appreciative husband all the way to the check writing when the salesman said; “Sir, we are ready now and all I need is your registration.”
“My what?”
‘Registration, where you bought your tag last year.”
“Houston, we have a problem because I did not buy a tag last year. The clunker never left the chicken houses so I didn’t think I needed one,” I said.
I never saw a car salesman cry like this one did, and just to play it to the bittersweet end, I cried, too.
As we hauled the clunker back home, me crying on the outside but singing Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus on the inside, my wife slid over next to me, patted my leg and said, ‘It’s alright dear. You tried.”
If Hollywood had been watching, I would receive an Oscar for Best Actor.
I realized I was not going to get a new truck but my wife was going to get a new car so I figured I might as well play it for all it was worth and I do mean play. I told my wife we needed to check the dealers in Valdosta the following weekend before making a decision. I knew that it does wonders for one’s love life when your wife thinks you are going to buy her a new car. What a week! Viva Viagra!
The next Saturday found us in Valdosta along with our son who wanted to shop for tax-free going back to school clothes. While my wife and son were clothes shopping, I was at the Toyota place getting a price on cars.
As I made my way from there to yet another dealer, the Viagra began to fade, allowing the blood supply to reach my brain and I began thinking how much the past week of romance was going to cost me. I was having second thoughts as I pulled onto the lot and was jumped by one of the best salesmen I have ever seen. It wasn’t long before I’d settled on a nice ride, telling the salesman I would return with my wife as soon as she finished shopping for clothes.
Of course, she loved the car I’d picked out and I promised the salesman we would return with the clunker the following Monday morning.
I looked on the computer that afternoon after returning from Valdosta and discovered my clunker would not qualify because I had failed to buy a tag for it the previous year. Now the question became thus; do I fess up and sleep in a cold bed for no telling how long or play it to the hilt?
It is dangerous to deceive anyone from Texas, especially like my wife who is a good shot, but no man likes to sleep with a block of ice so I opted to play it to the hilt and hauled the clunker, chicken feathers and all, to Valdosta.
I played the part of joyful and appreciative husband all the way to the check writing when the salesman said; “Sir, we are ready now and all I need is your registration.”
“My what?”
‘Registration, where you bought your tag last year.”
“Houston, we have a problem because I did not buy a tag last year. The clunker never left the chicken houses so I didn’t think I needed one,” I said.
I never saw a car salesman cry like this one did, and just to play it to the bittersweet end, I cried, too.
As we hauled the clunker back home, me crying on the outside but singing Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus on the inside, my wife slid over next to me, patted my leg and said, ‘It’s alright dear. You tried.”
If Hollywood had been watching, I would receive an Oscar for Best Actor.
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