New Truck

Oh boy, we have a new truck! Yesterday, the Lovely Louise and I went to Ft. Myers to get new sneakers. Okay, I know they’re not called sneakers anymore, but that’s what they are to me. To Louise they’re “trainers,” because that’s what they call them in England. Anyway, we’d gotten our sneakers and were driving home when we started talking about looking at new trucks—even though our current Toyota is a 2014, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. We decided to stop by the local dealer just for kicks. Louise had mentioned that she liked the interior design of the Tundra we had before this one, and wondered if the new ones had a better look. Nope. The interior of the 2018 Toyota Tundra is basically the same as the 2014. I did point out that the new one was much cleaner, and she gave me that I’m-trying-to-be-patient-with-you look. Color is a big deal. I suggested black, but was immediately rebuffed because black shows more dirt. Knowing where this was headed, my next suggestion was white. I thought I was funny but I got that look again. She thought that a metallic blue might be nice, but we definitely would not be getting red. She asked if I liked the color of our current truck and I told her yes, I like its sort-of-sand color. She gave me that look again and informed me that our current truck is silver. How am I supposed to know? I’m color blind. Anyway, I told her that I didn’t care about color so she could pick out any color she wanted. Out to the lot we head with our twelve year old salesperson, Brandon. Okay, maybe he’s not twelve but he looked like it to me. In any event, he and Louise start walking down the line of trucks looking at colors, bed size and how many doors it has. Me? I’m just following along behind because I truly do not care and, if I let her pick the truck this time, domestic harmony will reign in my house for at least a week. Suddenly she spots it. Our new truck. There might as well have been a parting of clouds, a ray of light shining on the 5.7 liter beast and a chorus of heavenly angels singing Hallelujah. She looked at me and nodded and I knew we were getting a new truck. Entering the office of our salesman, Brandon, Louise spots a bag on the floor next to her chair and opens it; inside she finds a box of cookies. Louise asks Brandon if he’d like one. He looks a little startled since they’re his cookies but he eventually says yes. So the box gets opened and it’s cookies all around. I don’t think Brandon has ever dealt with someone like Louise, because he keeps laughing and shaking his head. Finally we get to the numbers and I’m ready for him—I have no problem saying no. He shows us the numbers and points out that he’s done the calculations, assuming we don’t want to put any money down. He’s right. I notice that they’ve given me about $2,500 more for my trade than the Kelly Blue Book value, and they’ve also discounted their truck to right about dealer cost. The upshot of this is that with no money down, we could upgrade to a four year newer truck and the payments would be over $100 less per month. Right now I’m trying really hard to think of a reason to say no, but I can’t think of one. So I say yes. In short order we’re taking our stuff out of the old truck and Louise is saying goodbye. Off we go in our new Tundra, with all of nine miles on it. The next day, the first thing I spot is Louise heading out to the new truck. In her hand she has a sticker of the British flag and a British flag license plate. She’s going to announce to the entire world that our new truck is now British territory. I will admit that it does make the truck easier to spot in a large parking lot because, honestly now, how many trucks do you see flying the British flag? It’s been a week and I just noticed that we forgot to have the truck inspected. In Massachusetts they give you seven days to get a sticker and I’m hoping Florida is the same. A quick check on Google and I can’t seem to find a state inspection station. I head on over to a local repair shop to see if they can do it or know of someone who can. As I pull into their lot, the owner comes out and asks if he can help. Owner: Can I help you? Me: Yes, do you do state vehicle inspections or know someone who does? Owner: You must not be from around here. Me: I’m from Massachusetts. Owner: We don’t have state vehicle inspections. Here in Florida you can drive any damn car you want if you can get it started. Nobody cares if its falling apart or not. You’re good to go. You have to love Florida. So, let this be a lesson to you: If you’re heading out intending to buy some sneakers, don’t stop at a car dealership.