DAYTRIPPIN'
/"WHAT'S NEXT, I don't know."
I PENNED THOSE FIVE WORDS into a sentence, hoping that in saying them out loud an answer might come. It was just over one year ago, May 30, 2022. In these days (the days of my 8th decade), things like sanity and certainty are elusive. Most times that doesn't matter. The heft of the outcome from the decisions I make these days is small. My fashion-curious grandgirl asked the other day: "Why do you wear a black t-shirt, shorts and Birkenstocks almost every day?" I explained that having a uniform means one less decision I have to make.
THOSE FIVE WORDS were in a post I wrote for this blog called, "When the End Is A Beginning". It was a post about me selling our beautiful Airstream. It was a decision I made in the moment, basically to stroke the male need to prove we can make a really good deal--sort of pull one over on the other guy. I did put our Airstream out there in the marketplace for a price I didn't think anyone would pay. The next day it was gone. I say that as if it was simple, rather than as the gut-wrenching, remorse-filled decision it was. THAT'S WHY I WEAR A BLACK T-SHIRT, SHORTS AND BIRKENSTOCKS EVERY DING-DONG DAY, MISSY! I CAN'T BE TRUSTED TO MAKE IMPORTANT DECISIONS.
MALACHI, NORA (CAPTAIN OF THE FASHON POLICE) AND JEREMIAH. WATCHING A MOVIE TOGETHER
Well, a year and a few weeks later: we're back baby, back in the RV game; not the Airstream game, but the trailer for traveling one. We had made the choice of next RV and went to the dealership yesterday to seal the deal. We had our two grandguys with us: Malachi (6) and Jeremiah (3). While I went in to the Sales Manager's office to strike a deal that would make the boys proud of their Pops, they thoroughly examined every RV on the showroom floor.
The Manager pushed a contract across the desk in front of me. I looked at it. I looked at him. I marked through his number and wrote my own! An offer I knew he would need to take to the senior-sales-manager-in-charge-of-rejecting-stupid-offers.
"We can do that," he said enthusiastically.
WHAT?! He could have at least given me the courtesy of saying, "Ooooo, I don't know Mr. Pops. You drive a hard bargain. How about we throw in a sewer hose and call it good?"
No! He took my first offer, like I had just lobbed a soft ball to any girl on the Oklahoma University 3-peat National Champs softball team.
We loaded up in the truck and headed to Chick-fil-a where I knew I would be treated with respect and the boys knew they would get a "toy" (which I tried unsuccessfully to talk them into trading in for an ice cream cone which I knew I would get a bite of).
On the way there, the 3-year old was singing, "This girl is on fire" by Alicia Keyes at the top of his lungs; the 6-year old said, "I remember your other trailer. It was SILVER." My Amazing-Missus and I looked at each other and laughed to keep from crying. Not only is the new home-on-wheels not silver, some marketing genius had the brilliant idea to name it a Micro-Minnie-Winnie. She is cute, I'll giver her that. And I know she will help us to have great fun and memories.
The last step on the trail of buying an RV at this dealership is the "walk-through" by our "camping advisor". He began by saying, "Now I'm going to go over things as if you've never owned a travel trailer (or have more than a third-grade education)."
But I have! I wanted to shout. Two shiny, silver Airstreams in fact. But, I listened and nodded while he spoke to me like I was a total idiot. Finally he asked me to sign his report card proving that he had explained, disclaimed, warned, and checked all the boxes. Under my signature was a line for me to put my email address. He had highlighted the word "REQUIRED".
ME: Why is this required, and by whom, and for whose benefit, because I don't see any benefit other adding a lot more garbage to my inbox?
"Camp Advisor": I'm required to get an email so we can send you a survey. Oh, and when you fill out the survey be sure to give us a 9 or 10 on the last question: "How likely are you to recommend this dealer to a friend?"
[A better question would probably be: what is the likelihood that anyone would ever ask you to recommend an RV dealership? ANSWER: Slim to zero.]
I was reminded of that time I begged my geometry teacher to give me a C- even though I would still be hard-pressed to tell you the difference between an obtuse and an isosceles triangle.
The camp advisor continued: "Anything lower than a 9 is considered a failing grade." I didn't ask him what would happen in that case. I didn't care, and Mimi was still chasing the boys around the showroom floor. I told him that grading on a customer service curve with other RV dealers, used car dealers, and politicans, I would give him a 9- with a needs to improve note that he should have his mother sign and forward to the dubious email address I had just put on the report card.
He was unhumored and done with me. His last box was checked.
Off to Chick-fil-a for lunch. I was thinking: if I owned an RV dealership I would only hire people that had worked at a Chick-fil-a, where they don't beg for good reviews. Quality service is just the modus operandi there. Recently, I ordered through the CFA app and checked the box to pick it up in the drive through. As always they were waiting for me. Our attendant was a chubby young guy with really rosy cheeks. I pulled forward and rolled down my window. "Are you Pops?" he asked. I told him I was. "When I saw your name on the order, I thought to myself I hope Pops comes to my lane."
Do they teach that stuff at CFA school or do they just hire people with that service propensity? I felt bad about my attitude at the dealership. I know that my camping advisor is a just guy making a living, a good person, that works in an environment wrought with quotas and unattainable sales goals, who knows his next performance review rests on stuff like getting a 9 or a 10 on that stupid card.
Harry if you're reading this, my email is hey.pops.hey@gmail.com. I hope you get all 9s or 10s.
And, if Harry were here to say, Thank You. I would say, "It's my pleasure. Pull forward please."