If I were to guess, my friend “Robert” is probably a complex man. He's the kind of man who's naturally confused. A man who's quite possibly tempted by the finer things in life; faking a taste for la dolce vita, or something. But, one can only ponder whether he may also be the type of guy who's the exact opposite of these things; someone who makes eye contact with you at the urinal for instance. Or one who enjoys dissolving his boogers in his mouth (thinking nobody sees him do it). And maybe he believes in wearing his High School Class Ring far into the late stages of his life. He may even be the type of guy you've met once or twice, but hoped to God never found out where you lived, let alone your phone number. The kind of guy that gets serious about his choices in previously-owned 2004 Jaguar S-Types. Who the fuck knows what the guy likes.
A few weekends ago, I awoke to a phone call on my cellular phone from an unknown source, with an area code not too far from where I live. It was an early Saturday afternoon, and knowing I should be up already I quickly decided to answer it. I had nothing on my agenda of course, so why not hear the person out? Who knew, it could've been a recording, in which case I would've turned right around and went back to sleep.
But instead, launching myself straight from slumber, in the nicest way possible I welcomed a warm “HELLO?!?” (complete with a smile, as if it was an inside joke between me and the guy on the other line). A gentleman with a thick Latino accent stutters a “Hello” back to me, and instinctively I shoot back a quick sunshine-loaded “HI!” like I was Rachel Ray meeting your parents for the first time. (C'mon, the dude must've been confused at this point; who answers the phone like this? With a smile, no less.)
We go back and forth unnecessarily, almost to a point that I break out laughing, until he asks for “Robert.” Without hesitating, I quickly ask for his name (i.e. “Who is THIS?!”). He tells me his name is Javier. I respond with the obligatory “Oh how are you?”, and proceed to ask who's Robert. This frustrates him. He tells me that Robert gave him this number because he was interested in a 2004 Jaguar S-Type. (Javier sounded like a desperate man about to lose a sale, or something.) He asks me once more if I'm Robert, and I say of course, to which I'm entitled to know the price of this Jaguar.
A little thrown off (and even more frustrated), he gathers himself and shuffles through what sounded like his paperwork, pauses, and offers “$13,795.” (Or somewhere in that ballpark. But yeah, that's a little low.) Unfortunately for him, it wasn't low enough. So I actually told him that this price is not good; definitely not good enough for me. And while I still had him on the phone, I proceeded with demands of spending no more than $9950, and asked him what I could get for that amount. It sounded like he processed this information pretty quickly, because he told me to hold on. Seconds later, he offered me (get this) a 2002 Jaguar S-Type.
“Not bad, but is it a convertible?” I ask. He begins to stammer, and I quickly cut him off by explaining that I have no preference in color, but I don't want white… or yellow. (So yeah, I guess I did have a preference. Whoops!) Going on and on reinforcing the convertible got him so upset that he began to act crazy on the phone. He interrupted me, spoke over me, and raised his voice. He even accused me of “doing drugs” because this in no way reflects the conversation he had with “Robert” at the dealership earlier. Can you believe that? This guy actually works at a dealership? Wow.
Unfortunately, the minute or so following his response was filled with an outburst of my own, ranting and raving into the phone as I tried to retort (Albeit rather unsuccessfully. How the hell did he know I was doing drugs!?) It took me a second to realize, but he hung up. He apparently didn't like my demands, and he wasn't happy with the inconsistent Robert; along with my innate ability to push people away, he really didn't know what he was getting himself into. But looking back on it, I guess Robert really was sort of complex. And we both experienced that.
Afterward, while I was trying to pick out which cereal to eat, I felt sort of defeated; I really wanted what I wanted, based on principle alone. And I was shocked when I realized the S-Type is about to be discontinued after the 2008 model year. The only thing worse than all of this is not knowing whether or not he knew that. Y'know what I mean?
A few weekends ago, I awoke to a phone call on my cellular phone from an unknown source, with an area code not too far from where I live. It was an early Saturday afternoon, and knowing I should be up already I quickly decided to answer it. I had nothing on my agenda of course, so why not hear the person out? Who knew, it could've been a recording, in which case I would've turned right around and went back to sleep.
But instead, launching myself straight from slumber, in the nicest way possible I welcomed a warm “HELLO?!?” (complete with a smile, as if it was an inside joke between me and the guy on the other line). A gentleman with a thick Latino accent stutters a “Hello” back to me, and instinctively I shoot back a quick sunshine-loaded “HI!” like I was Rachel Ray meeting your parents for the first time. (C'mon, the dude must've been confused at this point; who answers the phone like this? With a smile, no less.)
We go back and forth unnecessarily, almost to a point that I break out laughing, until he asks for “Robert.” Without hesitating, I quickly ask for his name (i.e. “Who is THIS?!”). He tells me his name is Javier. I respond with the obligatory “Oh how are you?”, and proceed to ask who's Robert. This frustrates him. He tells me that Robert gave him this number because he was interested in a 2004 Jaguar S-Type. (Javier sounded like a desperate man about to lose a sale, or something.) He asks me once more if I'm Robert, and I say of course, to which I'm entitled to know the price of this Jaguar.
A little thrown off (and even more frustrated), he gathers himself and shuffles through what sounded like his paperwork, pauses, and offers “$13,795.” (Or somewhere in that ballpark. But yeah, that's a little low.) Unfortunately for him, it wasn't low enough. So I actually told him that this price is not good; definitely not good enough for me. And while I still had him on the phone, I proceeded with demands of spending no more than $9950, and asked him what I could get for that amount. It sounded like he processed this information pretty quickly, because he told me to hold on. Seconds later, he offered me (get this) a 2002 Jaguar S-Type.
“Not bad, but is it a convertible?” I ask. He begins to stammer, and I quickly cut him off by explaining that I have no preference in color, but I don't want white… or yellow. (So yeah, I guess I did have a preference. Whoops!) Going on and on reinforcing the convertible got him so upset that he began to act crazy on the phone. He interrupted me, spoke over me, and raised his voice. He even accused me of “doing drugs” because this in no way reflects the conversation he had with “Robert” at the dealership earlier. Can you believe that? This guy actually works at a dealership? Wow.
Unfortunately, the minute or so following his response was filled with an outburst of my own, ranting and raving into the phone as I tried to retort (Albeit rather unsuccessfully. How the hell did he know I was doing drugs!?) It took me a second to realize, but he hung up. He apparently didn't like my demands, and he wasn't happy with the inconsistent Robert; along with my innate ability to push people away, he really didn't know what he was getting himself into. But looking back on it, I guess Robert really was sort of complex. And we both experienced that.
Afterward, while I was trying to pick out which cereal to eat, I felt sort of defeated; I really wanted what I wanted, based on principle alone. And I was shocked when I realized the S-Type is about to be discontinued after the 2008 model year. The only thing worse than all of this is not knowing whether or not he knew that. Y'know what I mean?
1 comment:
Poor Robert. Post the story of how you broke the ceiling fan!
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