Nice, no?

There are few things in the world that inspire more anxiety and dread to me than having to buy a car. I don’t understand all the stupid little complexities, and I constantly feel like someone is going to rip me off, and I hate the whole thing. This is exactly the kind of thing that men are good for, but also exactly the kind of thing my friend Christine is good for. But apparently, I am “out of my fucking mind” if I think that means she will come with me when Michigan State is in tournament. So… no help, but I psyched myself up to do it alone.

I have this dream that someday I will live on an island with an internet connection, more books than I can read, and little else. In this dream, I never have to do things like talk to car dealers. It’s really a good dream, and seemingly more plausible than my backup dream of meeting someone, falling in love, and not being treated like shit. That one seems a little far-fetched. Anyway, in pursuit of this dream, I went to extreme measures to minimize human contact. The first thing I did after deciding on the car and the dealer was to contact them via instant messenger. This actually worked, as stupid as it sounds, I got all the basics down within 20 minutes.

From here, I selected the options and negotiated the price all through email, which was perfect. When I could avoid it no further, I made an appointment for yesterday and finally had to use my grown up girl skills to actually turn in my car, pick up the new one, and deal with the paperwork. Amazingly, it took less than an hour and I didn’t pay one penny more than we agreed on, and for a tiny second I thought maybe my Emily Dickinson tendencies were over the top. But then, I had to wait like ten minutes for the car to be detailed and some guy kept trying to chat me up about golf, about which I give zero fucks, and I remembered why Emily Dickinson was a genius.

This week I said something typical like “ugh, people are the worst” – which is very true – and my coworker Bill said “you know that’s kind of your whole job right?” Yes, Bill, I do know that. That is how I know.