Story 152: Car Dealer Correspondence

            Dear Customer,

           

Thank you for being such a loyal customer all these years.  Our records show that you have bought several automobiles at this dealership, you always have them serviced at this location, you have referred other buyers here, etc., etc.  We really appreciate it; such behavior is increasingly infrequent nowadays.

We turn to you once again, constant patron.  We recently have found ourselves in a bind where, for reasons that we are reluctant to share, we need more cars to sell.  Cars that are only a few years old, well-maintained, still have the original paint, the works.  Bottom line: we specifically need your car.

We need it, and we need it desperately.  All the cars currently on our lot are absolute garbage, and only yours will do.  We actually are willing to pay you more than you would ever see with a regular trade-in deal, plus we will even take money off any other new car you want from us – any one that is not absolute garbage, that is.  You will never find a better deal, not ever.

So please.  Sell us your scrumptious, irresistible car.  You will not have cause to regret it, trust us.  What do you have to lose?  Nothing, that is what.

Sincerely,

Your Local Car Dealership

Dear Local Car Dealership,

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat???????

Sincerely,

Customer

Dear Customer,

We write to you at the metaphorical end of our metaphorical rope: we need your car by this Saturday, and we will offer you the amount that you originally paid for it.  If that does not adequately communicate our dire straits to you, we do not know what would.

Please hand over your car to us on Saturday – we also will be giving out free candy bars that day, if that is your thing.

Sincerely,

Your Local Car Dealership

Dear Dealer,

You are not getting my car.  At least not until after I’ve driven it into the ground, when it’ll be no good to anybody anyway.

Stop writing to me.

Sincerely,

Customer

Dear Kind Customer,

I, a desperate man, write to you today to appeal to your humanity.  If you ever wanted to save lives and be a hero, for the love of all that is good in this world please sell us back your car ASAP.  You can drive any other car you want right off the lot, no fees, nothing – we do not care.  Just please, look into your heart and choose justice.

With love and affection,

Manager, Your Local Car Dealership

Dear Manager,

I’m intrigued – you’re still never getting my car, but why do you need it so badly?

With curiosity,

Customer

Dear Customer,

None of your business why, just give us the car!  Please.

Hugs,

Manager

Dear Manager,

Hmmm, no.  Good luck with the whole life-saving business, ahahahahaha!

Weirdos.

Sincerely,

Customer

Dear Customer,

This letter is to inform you that Your Local Car Dealership is no more.  It did not go out of business: it simply ceased to be.  Apparently, it could have been saved if only your specific car had been brought in to anchor it onto this realm, but alas, `twas not meant to be.  For future service appointments, please contact us, Your Distant Car Dealership.

Regards to you and yours,

Your Distant Car Dealership

Dear Distant Car Dealership,

Learn from them and next time don’t send cryptic letters!

Sillies.

Sincerely,

Your Former Customer

Story 151: Hawking Your Wares

            “Matt, you’re sampling ----- Sauce today over by Books and Clothes.”

           “Oh man, that’s right by Sheila’s station!  Can’t I sample ---- Chocolate over by Dairy and Baking?  Marissa wouldn’t mind me taking that!”  He knew that she actually would mind, very much.

            “Marissa didn’t call out sick and Ron did, so you’re sampling ----- Sauce and not another word about it.”  There was none.

            Matt set up the sauce samples on his table before the store opened, dreading what was to come.  It wasn’t the greedy and/or cheap customers who only sampled all the tables in the store for an aggregate free meal – everyone knew that this was a loss leader that resulted in one direct sale in a thousand, but succeeded in its true goal of repeat business and the false sense of pulling the wool over the company’s eyes by getting “free food” (there is no such thing, and the wool does not exist).  He could handle them; most snatched and ran anyway, leaving him in peace.  No, it was Sheila he dreaded.

          Sheila: she of the booming voice and the aggressive sales techniques.  Sheila, who overpowered all within her radius by her sheer force of will and vocal cords.  Sheila, who made the numbers of all employees who sampled around her shrivel up and become inert.

            Sheila, the samples closer.

          “Samples of ----- Sauce!”  Matt preemptively struck when he saw the first traces of outside humanity begin their aimless wandering through the aisles.  He was around the corner from his opponent and could not see her: all he knew of her presence was The Voice.

            “----- CHICKEN!  GET SOME ------ CHICKEN HERE!  FRESH OFF THE ROTISSERIE!”

            “Good morning, like to try some ------ Sauce?”

            “TASTY ------ CHICKEN!”

            “Have some – ”

            “CHICKEN!  SAMPLE SOME ----- CHICKEN!”

            “Try some ----- Sauce, on sale for – ”

            “YOU!  TRY THIS ----- CHICKEN, IT’S SIMPLY DELICIOUS!”

            “How about some – ”

      “I’VE GOT ------ CHICKEN HERE, DOESN’T ANYBODY WANT SOME ----- CHICKEN?!!!!”

            And so on for eight hours.

            By the end of his shift, Matt had only sampled a tenth of the stock that he had been given; he hung his head in shame as he turned over his table to the next employee and clocked out for the day.

            “Hey Matt,” a raspy voice addressed him as he waited for his ride at the front of the store; he turned and saw Sheila, who had never before spoken to him directly in the two years that he had worked there.

            “Hi….?”  He replied.

            “Don’t feel bad about today – the managers set up that spot for the products they don’t want to carry anymore, and the only way to keep Corporate from sending them to us without figuring out what’s going on is to kill the sales.  Ron usually has the honor, but he got laryngitis.”

            “Oh.  So you weren’t trying to out-sample me, then?”

         “Well, no, I try to out-sample everybody; I just wanted to let you know that your table placement today was more of a reflection on the product rather than on you as an employee.”

            “Oh.  OK.  Thanks?”

           “You’re welcome.  Just don’t try to be like me – you’ll have no voice left by the time you hit 30.”

Story 150: Digging an Epic Hole

            She was on the phone with the gas company for the seventh time: “But when I called yesterday the technician was scheduled to come here today – why is it now scheduled for tomorrow?”

            Son appeared in the backyard doorway, holding a trowel in one hand and a bucket in the other: “Mommy, is it all right if I dig a hole to the center of the Earth in the backyard?”

            “Hold on a sec – yes, sweetie, just not in Mommy’s flower garden.  Or near the shed.  Or by the – just do it in the middle of the yard, please.”

            “OK, I will.”  He departed.

            “Yes, I’m still here.  No, no, that wasn’t done until the second visit; I was talking about the first visit.”

            Son appeared in the backyard doorway, now wearing a miner’s helmet with the headlamp lit: “Mommy, do we have any extra lumber for me to shore up the hole’s walls?”

            “What?  Just be careful honey; you can use the wheelbarrow if you want.”

            “OK, I will.”  He departed.

           “Um, let’s see, the first visit was in March, and the second was in May; do you think the computer might have mixed up the months?”

            Son appeared in the backyard doorway, holding the trowel handle and sweating: “Mommy, the outer core melted the trowel, do we have any heat-resistant tools that I can borrow?  They would need to withstand at least 6,000 kelvins.”

            “It was in March!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just a sec – honey, Mommy’ll be off the phone in a minute, if the trowel broke you can take the other one from the shed.”

            “OK, I will.”  He departed.

            “Sorry, I – what?  So someone’ll be here today and the bills will be fixed?  OK, I’ll wait for the letter in the mail to make sure, but thank you very much…. OK, you too, bye-bye.”  She disconnected the phone and slumped in the kitchen chair.

            Son appeared in the backyard doorway; she could see a strange glow in the air behind him: “Mommy, I reached the center of the Earth, want to come see?”

            “Of course!  Are any more of my tools broken?”

            “Two trowels and the wheelbarrow were sacrificed during the expedition, I’m afraid.”

            She joined him outside and they peered down the narrow hole that led straight to the Earth’s inner core.

            “That’s… some hole,” was all she could say.

            He beamed with pride: “Glad you like it – I made it myself.”