I Got My Swim Trunks And My Flippie Floppies

When our two car payments and two insurance payments are combined, Shawn and I spend more monthly on our vehicles than on our mortgage. And that's not even considering the cost of parking or gasoline. At this rate we will never get out of our condo and into a real house.

Our plan is to sell Shawn's car and trade mine in for one we can compromise on (Shawn needs speed and power, I need a hatchback for easy puppy transportation.) We spent Saturday morning at a dealership getting my car appraised.

I am not a fan of car dealerships. I do not love cars the way Shawn does so I end up spending a lot of energy trying to tune him out while he drools over all the shiny new cars. Car dealerships smell funny. They have bad coffee. Car salespeople scare me a little (I think it's the combination of manipulation and desperation they exude.) This dealership was no exception.

At one point during the shenanigans, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I take two steps into the room and realize that I am standing in a puddle of dirty pee water. Someone had done something horrific to the toilet and caused a massive overflow. The floor was completely covered in water and there was toilet paper and other debris floating in it. And I was standing in it. IN FLIP FLOPS.

I hauled ass to the front desk to tell someone and the woman there says, nonchalantly, "Oh yeah, I know. Just go upstairs and use the employee bathroom." And then my head melted because seriously? You know? You know that there is a major flooding situation in the bathroom and you couldn't be arsed to, you know, put a fucking sign on the door? So people don't go in - IN FLIP FLOPS - and get dirty pee water on their feet? ON THEIR BARE FEET?

So my car dealership experience didn't start off too well.

Fast forward to us sitting down with a salesman and having him tell me how "amazing" it is that "so many woman are driving stick shifts nowadays." Now, he was an older guy (probably my dad's generation) who didn't seem like he was trying to be a dick. I think he was just trying to include me in the conversation because up to that point he and Shawn had been having a spirited discussion about the future of GM while I sat stewing about the dirty pee water on my feet and how I was going to have to throw out my favourite pair of flip flops and probably sterilize my feet in boiling water and that was really going to hurt a lot and wow this coffee tastes like mud. So. The salesman tells me it's amazing and Shawn shoots me a look (the "don't say anything Hillary, it's not worth it" look) and I bite my tongue and don't say something like "it sure is amazing! Did you know I can vote now, too?" and spend the rest of our time there stewing about dirty pee water and chauvinistic salesmen.

Here's the thing: if he had told me it was impressive that more and more women are now driving stick shifts I would probably find it a bit condescending but not outright offensive. But to call it amazing? The miracle of life = amazing. The Vancouver Canucks sweeping the St. Louis Blues in four straight games = amazing.

These brownies I made last week = amazing.

Women mastering the stick shift? Not amazing. Kind of cool, if you ask me. I definitely feel like a bit of a badass because I know how to drive stick. But I don't feel like it's my greatest accomplishment.

Shawn says I'm too sensitive. There is a slight possibility that he's correct; I mean, this did happen two days ago and I'm still pissed about it. I just find it really insulting that this man felt justified in basically congratulating me for being able to drive my car. Asshole. Needless to say, he will not be selling us a car (and not just because my car was appraised at over $10,000 less than what I paid for it fourteen months ago ... eep!)