Don’t feel bad, believe the stereotype, because I’m telling you now, the stereotype is TRUE. It’s there for a reason, people don’t just make up stereotypes, they come along after many similar experiences with certain “groups” of people. Car Dealers are unctuous little bastards. Vocab word of the day, “unctuous”. Defined, this word means excessively ingratiating: attempting to charm or convince somebody in an unpleasantly suave, smug, or smooth way. It stems from a word used to describe anything oily or greasy. You get the picture. I use this word to describe anyone who seems as if they might do just about anything to slick their way through a situation.

Anyway, why the harsh judgment Barb? Well, I went back into the dealer yesterday to sign over the title of the car that I traded in. My old car is officially owned by my father, so his signature was needed. Colin (it’s pronounced “Collin”, but I found the English version’s spelling of his name to be exceptionally apropos. Seems more likely that it would be pronounced as “colon”. Hee hee. But I digress. So I tell him, “I’ll just bring it to my father, have him sign it, and bring it back tomorrow.” But no, that means more time before a deal is completely closed to this guy. So he says, “How well can you forge your father’s signature?” Ahem, WHAT? I may not be the most scrupulous person I know, but come ON here. It reminded me of the day we actually bought the car, filling out paperwork, and my father couldn’t remember a certain address, the sales guy said, “Just make one up, it doesn’t matter, as long as the box is filled in.”

My dad looked at me with one of those can-you-fucking-believe-this-guy? expressions and made some phone calls until he got the right address for the form. So anyway, back to yesterday. I smiled, and with my most sincere and patronizing tone, said, “Gee, Colin, I just don’t feel comfortable blatantly forging my father’s signature for that title. How about I give him a call and see what he says?” Colin said, “If I leave the room, and come back and it’s just signed, I know nothing.” Jesus! SUH-LIMY. Spoke with my dad, he said go for it, it’s not like they give a shit and it’ll save us time, and just for the record, Colin was in the office, and watched as I forged my father’s name. Ick. Formalities and deception. I felt dirty. Okay, not really, but I did feel like, “Hey! I’m more moral than someone else! Yay! Maybe I won’t be alone in Hell after all!”

Had a lovely dinner with my dad and my sister Jenny. Italian food, wine, laughs, love. Driving home, my father hands me a plastic bag and says, “I don’t know why she felt the need to give this to me to give to you, but here – your PlayGirl magazine. Mom gave it to me with some bills before she left for New York.” Hmm? Come again? He looked at me, almost expecting an explanation of some sort. I said, “Listen, Dad. I live in Hillcrest. Having these as my coffee table magazines keeps me very popular with the local boys I know and love so much.” He just laughed and handed it over. And my sister and I had quite a feast with August’s PlayGirl of the month. Brazilian hottie! And tomorrow’s a holiday. Can the week get any better? Done with the car stuff, got my new naked man-mag, and a day off in the middle of the week. Yes, I think I will be having a drink tonight.

Happy 4th! I like to call it, Independence Day. Because I’m an Independent Woman. That’s why.

-Barbarella

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