Subject: English –Short StoryThe Case of the Elusive Car SalesmanI was pacing around Lexington, waiting for my local mechanic to finish thelatest repairs on my 77 Chevy Impala. My name’s Yesterday, Sam Yesterday. It was hot in Lexington, by that is not uncommon for mid-July.
I’d had agood several months, and I was in good financial position for the first timesince I bought that Impala back in 1977. That car had served me well, butlately it had been failing. Maybe it was time for a trade, I thought; so Iwalked over to the nearest friendly (sort of) car dealership. As soon as I set foot on the shiny showroom floor, it seized me.
It was themost beautiful thing I had ever seen. A sparkling combination of steel,leather, electronics, and a very large engine. The muscle car had beenrevitalized in the form of a 1995 Chevy Impala SS. It was sleek, resemblingthe type of car Darth Vader would drive. I grabbed the nearest salesman,hopped into the body hugging leather bucket, fired up the 275 bhp.
LT1 engineand took off. As the 6-speaker CD stereo belted out Aerosmith the poorsalesman tried to sell me a car that had already sold itself. I had fallen inlove, it was the only car that I had loved since that 77 Impala. It had anengine large enough to satisfy my primitive need for power, an image thatscreamed “Hey you with the radar gun! See if you can catch me!” Granted, itwas heavy, it had watery boat-like handling, and drank gas like my UncleBubba drinks beer.
Still, I loved it. It wasn’t Japanese, German, Korean, orotherwise. It was a big hunk of purebred, American muscle car, dammit. I picked out a nice shiny new one, called the bank and drove home in my newwheels.
I decided to spring for all the bells and whistles; leather, CDplayer, alarm system, keyless entry, etc. I figured that if this car wasgoing to run as long as my last Impala it should be well-equipped. As I was admiring the view from my office in the Financial Center, the phonerang. I answered and was greeted by a rather hysterical woman named Dianewho thought that she had been cheated by her car dealership.
“That evil Car salesman has kidnaped my car!” she explained. I calmed her down and asked what happened. “Well, Larry, the salesman, picked up my Lexus for servicing, just as usual. Also as usual, he left a more expensive car as a loaner. Later in the day,I received a call saying that my car had been destroyed.
Larry said that oneof the technicians had accidentally cranked it right up into the ceilingwhile it was sitting on the lift. I found it hard to believe, but hepromised me a new model if I would just come over and sign the papers. Assoon as I arrived, Larry said that he would credit me the value of the car ifI wanted to by a nicer mor expensive model. I agreed and ended up with alovely new sports coupe. “”Nice car,” I remarked, realizing that the salesman was making a tidy profiton the transaction.
“Yes, it is. But I still miss my Essie. “”Essie?” I interrupted, quizzically. “Yes, Essie was the name of my old car, the ES300, I loved Essie, and thenew car wasn’t the same. “”You had a brand new $55,000 Lexus, which you got for only $25,00 and youmiss you older $35,000 Lexus?” I asked, beginning to wonder whether she wasplaying this game with a full deck.
“Yes, I did. So, anyway, I read the article in the paper covering theincident, and was struck by something. The general manager said that he wasbaffled, because there are safety mechanisms on the lifts, preventing themfrom going that high. I also realized that Larry would be making his regularcommission on a $55,000 Lexus, and not a $25,000 one, because the payment forthe ES was made by the insurance company after the sale. So, not only had hemade money on Essie, but on the new car as well. “”Interesting.
Is that all?” I asked. “Yes. If the accident wasn’t really an accident, I want to know, and I wanta lot more than a new sports coupe, that car meant a lot to me.” Sheconcluded,
