While we're on the subject of Bianca's car, it reminds me of when we went to purchase it. We bought the car while still living in the Midwest, and this is what car dealers do where we're from: they put a big plastic chrome-y looking name of their dealership on the back of the car. Not a licence plate holder, mind you. Not something you can take off easily. No, this is attached TO the back of your car, to the body. On the paint. Some even use vinyl letters.
What the hell is this all about, may I ask? And what kind of sheep allow this kind of nonsense to go on? Why not tattoo Olaf Dingle's Car Sellery on my arm? Perhaps if you distracted me with a television set in the lobby you could. Perhaps some snacks for further distraction? Pork skins? Sure. Do what you will. Because protesting is too much work. Christ, it's a wonder we have any civil liberties left.
As the negotiations for the car neared the end, Bianca pulled a very Bizarro World move and pointed to the name and said, "I want this taken off." The salesman looked at her like she had suddenly started to vomit kittens, but dutifully sent the car off to have it removed.
Are you driving around advertising? Do you care? Obviously most people don't. Happily where we live now, there is a bit more respect for the customer. Not much, but some.
No comments:
Post a Comment