I just got home from my hour-long commute — did a bell to bell today; that’s 8:45am to 9:00pm. Sold ZERO cars. A.K.A. I worked for twelve hours and I made ZERO dollars. Talked to eight or nine pieces of shit basically. One couple wanted to drive every car Toyota makes. We drove a Venza and argued over the price for twenty minutes despite the fact that even if we sold it at invoice price it was still out of her price range.
Ended that conversation on a positive note: “if we get any pre-owned Altimas in stock I’ll give you a call!” Nice white couple. Wife was a super-cute ethnically ambiguous white gal with a slim body, dog face and obnoxious, unnecessarily cozy winter hat. Husband was a super-nice Jewish lawyer who probably would’ve bought the car if his bitch wife had been elsewhere. I’ll pray for him. And their kid was a little fag. Probably named Gabe or Mason or Tyler or Asher. They probably should get a Venza to fit their fag life.
I’m not exagerrating when I say I had ten Chinese people sitting at my desk. First I met Dave and Lin. They told me they wanted a nice high-end Venza with leather and a backup camera for their pregnant friend Shelly who was on the way. Shelly comes in, followed by the grandparents and the aunt and uncle and before you can say yellow fever I have the entire Wang dynasty clammoring around my desk shouting orders for dumplings and stinking to high-heaven of nail polish and dry-cleaning solution.
Now the way Shelly presented herself, I could tell something was different. These people had money and they smelled like it. Nice North Face fleeces and Crocs, bubble goose-down jackets, courdouroys — the shit that a white real-estate appraiser or physician would wear on a lazy Sunday of FJ Cruiser shopping.
Shelly didn’t hang back or wait for a male or elder female family member talk. She took center stage and got right in my face, good posture, good English, and explained that they had some absurdly low price from this shithole dealership down the street – Box Auto.
She had an ugly face, and struck me as a very shrewd business woman, someone right at home at the helm of a Chinese steel corporation or child sex-slavery ring. So that was another bust, the deal they got down the street was a $3000 loser and my manager didn’t want to match it, so we sent the Wangs packing, all ten of them.
Then I got one pretty good lead, a respectible young white person who didn’t bust my fucking balls too much. We looked at a Sienna together, and good news he liked the 2010 more than the 2011 because in the ‘10 he can put in three child seats using the LATCH system instead of just the seat belt.
Unfortunately for my ass, he called the dealership five minutes before stopping in to ask if we had Siennas in stock, which automatically means I have to split my commission with the phone department, despite the fact that they did absolutely no fucking work.
We worked a deal, and didn’t discount our car (full-sticker), but he does get a $1000 rebate from Toyota, we showed him $1000 more than he wanted for his trade, and we threw first year’s maintenance in there to puff the deal up and make it look better. He still had to think about it, and his pregnant wife had been in and out of dealerships all day, so they were pretty much spent.
More importantly, I came up with a new Christmas sensation song. Goes a little something like this: “Suck-suck-suckin’ on a peppermint stick. Nib-nib-nibblin’ on a peppermint stick. Crunch-crunch-crunchin’ on a peppermint stick.” — the accompanying video would involve me smiling as I jack off two big candy canes.
I really like all the people I work with.
I’m having some issues at the apartment. My commute is an hour each way and I work long hours, so my time at home sleeping/playing Fallout 3/jacking off is very special and important. Recently however my peaceful domestic bliss has been shattered.
Twice every hour or so, I will hear the distinct sound of an old man cumming. “AUuuuuggghhhhHHHHHH” — like he’s auditioning for a role in a pleasure commercial. “Brand Z pleasure is the best! AUuugghhtttmmDDD!” Then right after this horny fucking asshole blows his load, he lights up a butt.
The flavorful aromas of nicotine, ammonia, borax, toilet-bowl and burnt corpse all waft into my room minutes after the cumming noises. The smell reminds me of when I shared an apartment with a girl who chain-smoked Parliaments. God I hope that bitch has a miserable life.
Anyway I went downstairs and had a word with the guy today, after waking up two other people thinking it was them instead. But yea, I finally got the right guy. He says he isn’t making any noises, and he pays rent for the apartment so it’s his right to smoke in it. Well guess what buddy I pay rent to, and it’s my right to leave my computer on a loop of Gay Guys Fucking Loudly, when I go in for another bell-to-bell shift tomorrow.
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