Carmax

My experience with used car dealerships

Used car dealerships merging with hot tar and fast food restaurants, here I find myself in a perpetually adulterated wave of corporate greed and moral corruption, wide-eyed and bewildered, frantically searching for the reassuring glow of the humane lighthouse (whether it be the royal blue of magnanimity or the dull grey of ambivalence) to guide me in this turbulent sea of immorality. A mere passenger to my compardreys nightmare, we trudge through the roads of South Florida’s underbelly patiently waiting for the tide of greed to ebb then rush to its exposed shores in attempt to scrounge up any pity pennies we can negotiate for his beat-up, red smudged 1999 Dodge Ram Van.

We stop at one dealership after another with barely enough room to drive in-between only to find the same sordid salesman, hair greased back, contemptuous smile painted poorly across his acrid face, a clone. ‘I realize you may have purchased the van for close to $3000, however due to the small amount of rust on the tailgate and missing bulb on the left indicator, I…I mean we are only able to offer you $200’ his mouth mechanically mimes out of time as his internal computer desperately attempts to re-synchronize itself.

Exhausted from the repetition of this vacuous, inane drone we decide to take a short detour to the esteemed Race Track gas station and vent our frustrations over a bean and cheese burrito. Slowly masticating this artificial s**t I find myself in the centre of our air-conditioned prison, stabbing out another anxiously rolled cigarette wondering how the f**k this salesman (or any for that matter) wakes up in his triple king-sized posturepedic bed, gulps his mornings coffee poured into his favourite mug by none other than the quintessential Carol-f*****g-Brady American housewife without splashing it in his own face and bludgeoning himself to death with the empty mug, forever leaving the words ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ branded on his scalded, bloody forehead right before the corpse disintegrates to ashes and his spirit screeches back to hell. As we drive towards the 9th, 10th, 11th, whatever dealership of the day my mind grapples with this scenario and eventually dismisses it as sheer insanity.

We pull into the seemingly empty parking lot and for the first time of the day I see the sky and the sun and beginto think that maybe this car park was built purposely around that large luminescent space rock or maybe the rock around it. We scan the establishment, completing our ritualistic b***h, moan and final cigarette before the battle, or maybe slaughter, only to realize that something was different about this place. Immediately I write off the notion as a mirage conjured by my growing fever and begin the march towards the entrance. As we near the door my eyes steal a nervous glance from my amigo who looks less like the proud and dignified Spaniard I had come to revere and more like an embarrassed adolescent cowardly returning home to his parents only a couple of hours after his reckless departure in which he declared ‘I hate you both and am leaving forever’, what a p***y, I however feel increasingly calm and relaxed. Must be the fever.

The transparent doors glide open for us and suddenly we are engulfed by a blinding, holy light, death is surely upon us, however as my eyes gradually adjust I surprisingly find myself face-to-face with no reaper but a wide smiled guy named Mark (or was it Peter?) who seems so grateful of our presence that I can only assume he had been waiting to meet us since birth. Our hands meet in a strong yet familiar shake and our eyes share a moment of mutual respect. He is immaculately groomed and smells of fresh bread. As I further inspect the showroom I discover 3 more Colgate smiles honed in on me and suddenly realize that Mark couldn’t have been alone in his quest from the womb. Entering my brains time machine and fingering the appropriate esoteric dials and knobs I transport to a dark, sticky ectoplasm soaked c**t catacomb and stare incredulously as 4 amiable foeti potter around the womb; spending their days flipping through Freud, Gestalt and How to Greet Me For Dummies whilst fighting over the regurgitated mush oozing freely from the umbilical cord.

Together we amble to the van; Mark completely in control of the situation says something generic like ‘here at CarMax we have over 1000 auctions every day in most states in America’ however he seems oddly sincere and genuine, like an ice skating Gandhi he dodges, weaves and dances on that narrow precipice that lies between friendly and formal. For the beginning we attempt to highlight the finer points of the van ‘it has low miles, great on fuel, sad to let her go’ I found myself dribbling. However instead of the expected shrug and probing retort he maintained that he would not be the one valuing the van today and that our questions were thus obsolete. At first I am sceptical of his intentions and wonder if this makes Mark obsolete, the van obsolete, even us obsolete, however as our relationship shifts further away from business and closer to a trusting friendship I deny my gut and just accept that things are now out of both of our control.

For the next half an hour I felt like I was on a conveyor belt in a human industrial line perfectly crafted for the consumer. We transition smoothly from the van to his modest and peaceful cubicle and I allow my fears and anxieties to be gently sedated by his amiable chit-chat. As he introduced me to his family’s picture on the wall I felt myself slowly drifting off into peace. Zzzzzzz. ‘So here we go, we seem to have the quote, now if I just click this button’ Mark sings as I awake in a post-op haze of mindlessness and euphoria. Mark gesticulates at a number on his computer screen and my eyes follow his perfectly manicured hands. $1200 flashes periodically. It seems that while we shared stories of travelling and adventure the Van had been valued, negotiated and was only 1 signature short of a sale. Too relaxed and detached at this point to care we scribble our consent, bid Mark an all-American‘Godspeed’ and skip arm in arm out of one of the greatest experiences of my life, ignorant and blissful.

The whole institution of CarMax was a perfect organism, one gigantic cell, A-sexual and unstoppable, stoic yet relaxed, a thriving biosphere teeming with life, full of endless strings of proteins all co-operating relentlessly in harmonious unison for the consumer. It was beautiful, wondrous and magical and even though at the end of the day we onlyreceived half the vans estimated value I still feel content. I guess the morale of the story, if it’s not just an outlet for my minds insatiable ramblings is consume, consume, consume because we never had a choice.