get a new vehicle. It would eat up the afternoon, assuming one was open.
The internet knew everything, and while some dealerships closed early on Sundays, I found a few open.
A new car, a new job, and a new life. I liked it.
Giggling, I grabbed my keys and purse. Conquering the world would take a lot of work, but I could do something for me for a change. I expected my choice to bite me in the ass, but I’d make do somehow.
Despite everything, I always did.
The used car dealership offered a range of vehicles from rusted antiques to barely used, and while my bank account wouldn’t appreciate it, I targeted somewhat sporty vehicles less than two years old with no accident reports. I cared less about the miles than I did about the general conditions of the vehicles, which did a good job of limiting my choices to a handful of possibilities. I gave a hard pass to the cars from brands with a history of being found on the roadside in need of repair, which left me with a choice of three.
The soft-top convertible tempted me, but I’d freeze to death in the winter, so it left my list.
The two-door would crank my insurance bill, which left me with a boring gray mid-range Mercedes with most of the bells and whistles. I liked its mileage, although I wondered why anyone would spend so much money on a vehicle only to drive it fifteen thousand miles.
The dealership liked the mileage, too, along with the car’s general good condition and its perks.
After an hour of arguing with the salesman and putting in some serious thought about heading to a different dealership, I got the vehicle for three grand more than I wanted to pay, which was six grand lower than they wanted me to pay. My credit, pristine since the day I’d reached adulthood, would let me walk off the lot with it for a decent monthly payment, but they’d get more interest out of me than I liked.
I took the loan on one condition: the car would no longer be gray when I finished with it, and they would not penalize me in any fashion.
Then I notified my insurance company my new car would be silver and accented with blue glitter.
Keys in hand, I went to the nearest body shop that handled custom paint jobs. The owner, five minutes from leaving for the day, sighed when I entered. “How can I help you?”
“Can you paint a car silver with blue glitter?”
I expected he got a lot of odd requests, but the instant the word ‘glitter’ left my mouth, he stared at me as though I had lost my mind.
“Blue glitter?”
“I want my car to turn heads when I drive down the street. I also want it easy to spot in a parking lot. It’s also less tempting to steal a car that has to be repainted to hide.”
“I have worked with glitter before. Let me check if I have any blue in stock.” He went into the back of his shop and left me alone to admire the photographs of far fancier cars than mine decorating the walls. Within five minutes, he returned. “I do have blue. I have pink, red, orange, and green as well. What kind of car?”
I pointed outside. “It’s a Mercedes. If I pay for a rush job, think you can do the work in a hurry?”
“I can, but it’ll take a few days.”
“Got a loaner?”
“I got a loaner if you can deal with a piece of shit.”
I laughed. “I just traded in my piece of shit. As long as it is street legal and parts don’t fall off while I’m driving, I don’t care what condition the car is in.”
“Just for that, I’m going to loan you the slightly nicer piece of shit. I’ll need to see your proof of insurance and license.”
As I’d just dealt with the insurance issue at the dealership, I pulled the documents out of my purse and handed them over along with my license. “If you do the protective coats, I don’t care if it takes an extra day or two, and if you happen to also do rust proofing, if you could make certain my baby is extra protected, I’d be grateful and show my gratitude in the form of appropriate and immediate payment.”
“I charge half up front for supplies and the rest upon delivery.”
I took out my credit card, which needed to get some exercise anyway. “Do you