The Outsider: Can't trust 'em but gotta' love 'em
|By Will Jones - The Outsider | June 7, 2018|
Back when I was living in Blighty, there was a saying uttered whenever a chap was about to enter into dealings with the most underhanded or unscrupulous of characters, and it went something like this: “There’s three types of folk in this world you can’t trust: car salesmen, estate agents, and government. They’ll all make you feel like a king while robbing the throne from beneath you.”
Now, here in Haliburton County, things are a little different, sometimes. Let’s take government first. Can you trust government? Hmm, I think not. Not big government, anyway. By the time you read this, we’ll probably have a new premier and Ontario will be rattling uncontrolled down a different path to debt and desolation. OK, so my British saying stands up to scrutiny on that part.
Estate agents. For those not in the know, in Canada these chaps are referred to as realtors, and as such, I have to be careful what I say because it seems like almost half the people I know are in the profession. But they are different here. They’re not the shiny suited 25-year-old upstart with fake Italian leather shoes and an even less convincing smile, who’s promising me the world, if only I’ll sign the commission forms. Here, they are Andrea, Ted, Rose Marie and John. They are friends you go to the hunt camp with, even share sticks with at a fondue party. Here they wear plaid shirts and don’t keep checking their phone while we make idle chat with them on the sidewalk. They’re kinda’ OK.
Then there’s car salesmen. And here it gets interesting because we recently purchased my lovely wife a new car, a brand new one. And, oh, did we get worked over by the car salesman. By the time he’d finished with us I was so in awe of his ultra ‘English’ greasy car salesman style that I was happy to have been duped by him. From the moment he strode confidently up to us, hair groomed, golf shirt tucked neatly into chino-style slacks, so clean shaven that he glistened, he had me.
“Hi guys,” he said, bending to fake jab a couple of punches at Little Z, “how can I sell you your dream car today?” As I explained our needs, his arm snaked around my shoulder and he led us away from the used cars, towards the shiny new ones. His questions and observations were clever, off balancing and always aimed at the right person. He told me about four wheel drive capability, while to my wife he pointed out safety features for our son. He demonstrated 14 different trunk storage options with such a flourish that I was actually impressed by them and he up sold us to the more expensive model without even blinking an eye.
And then he brought his A-game. Little Z was getting restless but the sale was not clinched, and our salesman could sense it. “Hey, little guy, what’s that in your hand?” he asked. Our son produced a Pokemon card. “Wow, is that Zygarde? Is it a GX, an EX or,” and he lowered his voice, “a Mega GX?” Because if it is that would be super powerful but then again a Mega...” The salesman was talking Pokemon with my kid. He had Little Z spellbound. He had me dumbfounded. He had us sold.
So, government ... I’ll always distrust them. Realtors, I’m growing to love them. And car salesmen, holy moly, when they are that good you ‘pays your money and enjoys the ride.’
WILL JONES - is The Outsider