Car of the Year (FF)

FF- Flash Fiction

Copyright - Sandra Crook

Ladies and Gentlemen, the new Ford Fantastica for 2037! 

Yes, we are pleased to present the most advanced American automobile ever built! Includes automatic parking, automatic driving, built in automated cursing voice including over 100 choice expletives, and --- new this year --- robot entertainers who fit right into your steering wheel!

Yes, they sing, they dance, they tell jokes.  Let's listen:

I'm Spinner, I just got in driving from the east coast and boy are my wheels tired!  You know, marriage is very difficult.  Take my wife ... please!  

  

Unfortunately, folks, American cars are still are no match for foreign when it comes to funny material.

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I think the problem for the Ford Fantastica could be fixed by hiring the Friday Fictioneers to write better material for Spinner.  One can imagine how Ford's profits would soar if Spinner began doing material by Russell Gayer!

Oh, no,  I mean sour.  Profits would sour.   My mistake.

Click right here to read the other takes on the picture prompt above and try putting some of their words in Spinner's mouth and see what happens. You may just wind up with Car of the Year for 2037!

Captain Cautious Gets a Ding

Ah, for those carefree Dingless Days! 

I recently put a small ding in my one year old Toyota Camry. It's a bit of a blow for the man they now call Captain Cautious because of his "scrupulous to the point of wimp-like" driving due to the accident which precipitated purchase of the new car.

The Ding isn't that big, only about 1/4 of an inch long and not deep.  After all, that's why it's called a "ding." It's on the left front side panel of the car,  and most people couldn't find the Ding unless guided to it by Sacajawea.

But the Ding mocks and haunts me.  Day and night it calls out to me :

"DING! DING! DING, PERRY!  I am the DING you so carelessly and recklessly put in your almost brand new motor vehicle.  Loser, can't you keep anything nice? DING! DING! DING!"

Every morning the Ding greets me as if I were an old friend. Or more likely, an old enemy:

"DING! DING! DING! Good morning, Perry.  Hope you haven't forgotten me, your DING!  I can't believe you inflicted me upon your new Camry, the most trusted mid-size in America!  DING! DING! DING!"

As I drive away from my home, the Ding does not let up.  It holds forth with a glowing account of my complete and total driving ineptitude:

"DING! DING! DING!  Hello, Delaware Valley Drivers, one and all! I am the DING that the hapless driver behind the wheel imposed upon this virtually new but ill-fated Camry.  Avoid this idiot if you value your lives! DING!  DING!  DING!"

Now the Ding is intensifying, throbbing, growing ... it is two inches long and deep as a ditch ... three inches long and deeper than a crater ... 110 inches long and the Grand Canyon!!!  And now it resounds with a new voice, as though it is a schoolteacher on meth ringing the bell to call very tardy fifth graders to class: 

"DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG! 

Loser, Idiot, Douche Bag! 

DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG! " 

I round a corner trying to flee but it is no use.  I still hear the hideous Dinging of The Tell-Tale Ding!

"DING! DING! DING!  A new Hyundai and you, young lady, smash the hell out of the left side door panel!  You don't deserve the second most trusted mid-size in America!  DING! DING! DING!" 

Why, that wasn't for me .... no, coming my way is a light blue Sonata with a small ding in the side, being driven by a nervous looking young woman.  

 "DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG!" cries my Ding.

"DING! DING! DING!" screams hers.  

I wipe my brow and muster a smile, and she looks over and smiles back.  And suddenly all is silent. 

"Guess you and I need to fix these dings ASAP," I call to her.

"Maybe better we fix our heads first," she calls back.

I am not alone, and neither is she.  We are brothers. 

Brothers Under the Ding. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Cautious Buys A Car

Perry!!! Have I got a car for you!

It was time.   My Uncool Car was but a memory.  It had been felled by an automobile mishap, the unfortunate experience of which had turned me into Captain Cautious Behind the Wheel.

But it wasn't the heavy-handed plugging of two previous blog posts nobody's going to read anyway that caused me to put off purchasing a replacement vehicle.  It was something else,  something far less annoying for you but far more troubling for me.

I have no sales resistance.    NONE!

Want Proof?  

~ I'm still receiving the last year and a half of my subscription to the newsletter  Minister Farrakhan Speaks Out On Why He Hates You.  But I am thinking of not renewing ...

~ I purchased 6,000 acres of real estate sight unseen on the recommendation of  former presidential candidate Newt Gingrich.  It was only later I heard of his plans to colonize Mars. 

~ I invested in a play called Springtime for Hitler.  Actually, oddly enough,  that investment turned out pretty well.

Why do I succumb so readily to sales pressure?   Maybe it's because I fall for every aggressive salesperson's trick in the book.

1) If the salesperson is friendly and seems to like me, I want to please them!   And if I've made an age-related comment in the time I've been with them,  just let them say "I don't believe it, you look great!" and watch them hit sales quota for the month,  even if it's June 2nd.   And for the next month too.

2) If the salesperson is not that friendly and ignores me, I want to please them!  "If I can't even get sales people not to hate me," I think  "no wonder I can't get any dates!" 

3) So, the very special once-in-a-lifetime discount price expires in 15 minutes?  Who'd believe that nonsense?   Me.  I rush to sign the papers like I'm on Minute to Win It!

4) The salesperson aggressively pushes me for a yes or no answer?  Everybody knows that's the time to firmly say "no" and walk away!  I firmly say "yes," as do my firmly planted "yes-affirming" feet.  

But not this time!  This time I'll be prepared.  This time I won't succumb.

I studied up on cars.  I listened to those Car Talk guys on NPR.  I'll probably never again contribute to NPR, but I listened to the those Car Talk guys on NPR.

I practiced my sales resistance in the mirror:  "No, that's way too much!"  "Sorry, not interested!" "Yes or no? Then the answer is a big fat NO, you big fat douchebag!"

I knew I was ready.  

I entered the dealership prepared for battle.  I asked to see a sales person.  That sales person approached.

A very attractive young person of the female persuasion! 

"Before we get started," I blurted out "I'm prepared for you! I know that: 

•  these cars are in demand because Car &  Cool Guy Magazine called  them the Best Glove Compartment in Mid-Class Hybrids,  
• everyone takes Option Group 4A  because leather makes a statement, 
• your unbelievably low pricing is good for Tonight Only!,  and
•  Throw in floor mats?! Throw in floor mats?!!  Your Sales Manager will never let you throw in floor mats,  but if I'm ready to buy RIGHT NOW, you'll do EVERYTHING YOU POSSIBLY CAN TO GET HIM TO THROW IN FLOOR MATS!"

I paused.   She didn't say a word.

"And you're going to act like you like me, I'll want to please you, and then I'll buy a car this very evening and overpay considerably for it.  But at least I can go home in my lovely new car and freely fantasize about having sex with you later."

She nodded emphatically.  

''All right," I said. "I'll take ... whatever."  

I picked out the car I wanted, I had a fine sales experience, and a fine fantasy later.

By the way, I really do like my new car.  There it is below.  

I still have no sales resistance.   But I do have floor mats!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoom-Zoom 

(Note: Lake & mountains in back shown

 to make my life appear more appealing than it is.)

Dude, Where's My Car?

Cut Right! No, Cut Left! Go Long!

I have to face the fact that when it comes to losing things,  I am a Jedi Master.

I lose combs, Chapsticks,  and socks in the dryer with such regularity that many businesses work my necessary replacement purchases for such items into their budgets.  It's not unheard of for me to lose jackets and sweaters as well, although fortunately I always have beat-to-crap ones at home to wear in place of the nice new ones I've just lost.  Until I lose those too.

But notwithstanding the above, you'd think I'd be able to hang on to a 5,000 pound hunk of  sheet metal, chrome, and very hard and durable rubber.  But somehow whenever I exit a store, supermarket,  dry cleaner, or other establishment of my rather questionable choice, I invariably wind up smacking my hand against my forehead and exclaiming in grand frustration:

"Dude, where's my car?"   

Is it to the left, to the right, or straight ahead?   I have no idea!

Is it close up to the door here or in a galaxy far, far away?   I have no idea!

Is it on Level A, B, C, or D?   I have no idea!

Or is it on Level E, F, G, or H?  I have no idea!

Or is it even in this #@%! lot altogether?  I have no idea!!

Dude, where's my car?!!!  

I simply cannot remember.  It's as if my mind shuts off  along with the motor as soon as I turn off the ignition.  Seems I'm always so intent on all the stuff I have to do in any given day that I forget to pay attention to the small detail of where I've left the essential means for getting all the stuff done I've got to do.

So I begin running around in search of the lost vehicle like a crazed halfback who's been tackled one time too many. 

"I think it was  two rows to the left near the blue Honda .... NO!   CUT RIGHT! Yeah, it was four rows over to the right next to the ....  NO! LATERAL BACK!  Over there by the minivan ... NO, NOT THERE!   Okay, I'M GOING LONG!  I'M GOING LONG!!  It's gotta be in Section 34-F, not here in 36-F ......  IT'S A HAIL PERRY!!!    NO,  NOT HERE EITHER!!!"   

Although I lose cars winter, spring, summer, and fall, my most inspired misplacings tend to happen during hurricanes, hailstorms, Biblical plagues, and whenever music by ABBA is being piped into the parking lot. 

Someone needs to invent a GPS that works solely to direct you to your car, wherever you've managed to mislay it.  Such a contraption's probably already been invented, but if I can't find a massive metallic object with a broken exhaust pipe and severely dented hub caps which may be 55 feet in front of my face, how would I ever know?!

"Mr. Block," it would say, "you have once again forgotten where you left your car, am I correct?"

"That's why I bought you, Little GPS!"

"And thank you for that, Mr. Block.  Although, may I add, you are a douchebag." 

"C'mon, Dude, Where's my Car?"

"Okay, Mr. Block, first go 25 steps straight ahead to the 2011 Mercedes that you could never afford short of marrying Prince Andrew, then go 40 steps to the right."

"Done, Little GPS.  Now what?"

"Make a left, walk around the open manhole cover (you do know to do that, right?) and go 32 additional steps."

"What's going on, Little GPS?  This is the bus stop!"

"Of course."

"DUDE, WHERE'S MY CAR??!!!"

"It's in for service today.  That's why you took the bus."

 "OMG!  What a douchebag!!!"

"Yes, indeed!  Now, how about a walk to the health food store for a little Gingko Biloba?

~~~~~~~~~