So, I’m writing this on the plane. There might be a little venom in my voice. I just was involved in something resembling a mugging or even a prison shower scene. Yes, OUCH!!
Couple months ago, I’m leaving Atlanta for NYC. Well, as you guys probably know, a car is not needed in the center of the universe. Actually, its more of a nusiance than luxury. To park it in a garage is equivalent to rent in some cities, and if you want to roll the dice and street park it, you have alternate side parking rules which require more attention that a dog with a spastic colon. No to mention parking tickets cost around $105. Anyway, I’ve tailed off again. Leaving Atlanta, I need to sell my car - 2004 Pathfinder. Only 32K miles on it. Perect shape. Well, I just figured I’d take it up to good ole CarMax and drop it on my last days in town. I get up there, everything is cool, the give me a nice offer of $14k (which is more than I owe on it), but then they reveal they can’t buy it from me because the title doesn’t match up. After a spirited discussion, I’m now driving back to my friends place instead of calling him to come pick me up. Long story short, I’m hoping on a plane for NYC the next day and yes, I still have a car in my possession.
Skip ahead 4 months. I finally get the title worked out, fly to Atlanta to grab my car and sell it. See some friends, grab some dinner, get up the next day to drive to CarMax and sell the damn thing. Yes, I’ve been making payments on it this whole time too. Anyway, I get in there, show them the paperwork from my previous visit and let them know in 4 months only 82 miles have been put on this vehicle - “oh, don’t worry, I really don’t see the offer being that much different. Maybe a hundred dollars or so.” My expectations were set, and I start thinking about what I am going to do wth the extra cash now in my pocket. Italy? New Zealand? Smile creeping across my face that after all the pain this car has cost me, I might end up ahead. About 30 minutes later, I get the same song and dance about how they inspected my car, everything looks great, and here is your offer (and they do this dramatic pause before they hit the next button on their computer) - $10,250. That’s all I see on the screen. It might as well been on a wrecking ball aimed at my head. ARE YOU F-CKING KIDDING ME? You know, maybe a little more foreplay before the prison love scene commensed would have worked. I just would like to know, HOW?! In 4 months and 82 miles my car has dropped in value $3750? Good bye New Zealand! Good bye Italy! Hello Travel Channel and Three Sheets. Its just not fair. I could have chewed glass and smiled about it. At this point, I know there are other options, but none are convienient and I have to catch a plane in 1.5 hours. Man, this sucks.
So, on to the paperwork. Efficiency at work here people. I might as well been asking for these ladies to write a Doctorial thesis on the economic crisis in Pangea at the rate they are moving. My attempts to inform them I needed to catch a flight fell upon deaf ears. 30 mintes later it is revealed that I still will owe $350 on the car after the CarMax payoff. (t-minus 60 minutes til plane departs). Oh JOY! They take checks, but not above $250. Really? No credit cards either. Excuse me, do you have an ATM? Thank god I happened to swing by the bank before I got there. Yes, i’m paying the difference in cash and a check. I feel like I’m in the ring with a super ninja, and he’s just popping me with side kicks to the head when I’m not looking. Oh, and because he’s a super ninja, I can’t see him either. I’m signing paperwork at world record pace. I’m asking them if they have a car service or local taxi company that can take me to the airport. Cruella behind the counter says nothing and hands me the local yellow pages. Really? This is the best customer service i’ve ever received. I’m sure there is a security guard close by because I probably look like I could go mental at any time.
My sales agents (lets call him Satan) does me one favor and calls me a cab. Well, let me state this properly. At first, he just said - call these guys or these guys while pointing to listings in the yellow pages. First one was out of service. Second one spoke an ancient dialect I could recognize. I think the look I gave him (you now what jack, I suggest you pitch in) provoked his “oh, let me take care of that for you”. Finally signed the last document 55 minutes till take off, and i’m guessing the airport is 20 minutes away. Cab is “supposidly” on his way, and I’m feeling about, I’d say, $4000 lighter. Happy day. I would have rather lost the money on one number at roulette in Vegas. Ace’s Cab Company finally shows up. 40 minutes till take off, and the driver has a small dog that looks like a ball of yarn that was caught in a fan sitting in the passenger seat and the driver is humming along to gospel music. When I say humming, he might as well been playing a tuba at that volume. Is this supposed to be one of those testing days? The fates had some afternoon cocktails and are having a little fun at my expense? My cab driver now wants to talk about US economics and what’s wrong with the US? Really? Ok, how about this. I’ll increase your econimic standing in this world if you press that accelerator a little harder. I have 30 minutes till take off.
I’ve accepted my fate. I get to Hartsfield-Tito-Jackson airport (I hate that place) with 20 minutes to go. Not going to happen. I know before I even swipe my card in the kiosk. The final kick in the pills by the super ninja - $50 service charge by Delta for missing my flight and getting a ticket for the next one. I can’t even get on stand by or try and talk my way on. I try to talk to a lady behind the ticket counter and she directs me to the kiosk. Really? You’re in the service industry. Arghhhh…Dagger. $50 later and a 45 minute walk through security (why I hate hartsfield) and I eventuallyI board this 26-passenger plane that resembles the short bus.
My head hurts and I’m super down. And there is ZERO alcohol on this flight. Believe it or not, there is a flight attendant, but this must be where the flight attendants go when they are on double secret probation. She simply reminds us we are going to Greensboro, the pilots names are Stevie Wonder and Edward Scissorhands, and your seat is a floatation device. Thanks. They don’t even get to ask you if you want peanuts or those biscotti cookies we all love so much. Its a short puddle jumper to Greensboro, NC, so hopefully mom has a bottle of scotch in the car and an IV.
Moral of this story. Avoid CarMax like the plague or a one night stand with Lindsay Lohan. Sell your car on Craigslist or even just leave it in a bad neighborhood with the engine running and a thank you note. My optimistic mom reminded me halfway between scotch #4 & 5, be glad it is gone. I know own a monthly Metrocard. $81 a month. Italy is back on the schedule.
