As I recall

    “What are you in for?” asked the cold-looking culprit, as if this was my first day in prison and he was to be my new best friend ­— my cell mate. But we weren’t in jail — we were in the lobby of the dealership where we buy our cars. My new friend was a salesman who was hiding, ready to pounce like a mountain lion on any poor unsuspecting soul who dared set foot in the jungle of the car lot. Like a hawk, he was looking out the huge plate glass window to spot his prey who had unknowingly ventured into no-man’s land. He was ready to bolt out the door and be all over any prospective buyer like brown gravy on mashed potatoes.
    “I received another notice in the mail,” I said, “that there’s another recall to fix something on my car. Hey, you look familiar, I know you — you’re the guy who sold me my multi-recalled car!”
    “We only issue the recalls for your own safety,” the salesman meekly said.
    “Maybe so, but I hardly see how I was in any danger from a rear windshield wiper.”
    “We sent out that recall because the heater that warms the water for your windshield wipers in freezing weather may get hot.”
    “Isn’t that the point?” I asked. “And I hardly feel like I was in much danger of having a horrendous wreck, because I never used that particular feature anyway. In fact, I never knew the car had that option.”
    As the day dragged on, I engaged the salesman in chit-chat, because about the only thing I hate worse than going to the dentist is waiting for my car to be fixed, especially in a lobby where the only reading material is Vogue and a Pottery Barn catalog that some other poor sap of the recall class had left behind.
    No wonder there were no tip jars in this place!

The full article is available in our e-Edition. Click here to subscribe.