by David Neilsen
About the same time that my beloved import decided it was time for
a new timing belt, water pump, shock absorber thingy, muffler, rear
axle, passenger side mirror, brake pad, wheel casing, cup holder
and windshield wiper, I decided it was time for a new car. This
time, I was gonna get an American Made Work of Art. I shopped
around, visiting the Fords, the Dodges, the Olds, the News, and
then I arrived at the home of the Saturns.
My first thought was that getting my picture taken with my dealer
was a huge incentive for buying their product. I mean come on, who
doesn't want a bunch of car salesmen to applaud you for giving them
money? And then there's always the chance that I'm an interesting
enough person that they'll want to make a commercial out of me.
But I wasn't being flown 250 miles to the dealership and I didn't
own an emu, so the chances were slim.
"No Pressure" is the motto of this institution. And it held true.
No one bothered me with hundreds of pricing plans, thousands of
useless incentives or the vanity mirror. In fact, they took their
motto so seriously that I had to eventually club one of the dealers
with a handy fungo bat to get their attention.
I test drove one of their "vehicles." It was a pleasurable
experience, filled with joy and rapture. Then came the hard sales
pitch. "What do you want with you car?" I asked for a double
helping of cole slaw and a side of fries. The deal was made. Now
I just had to wait for my car to show up.
Eventually it did, but not before it was birthed in the Tennessee
factory. The Saturn Family let me know when my car was going to
be born, and invited me to Tennessee to watch the operation as my
Saturn was pushed through the birth canal of the Mama Saturn. I
declined. Then it was shipped out to me, to my eagerly waiting
hands.
As I took the reigns of my beloved, a crowd of dealers sprung out
from nowhere and welcomed me into their little family. They gave
me a rousing fraternity cheer, showed me the secret handshake, made
me drink from a skull, had me swear allegiance to an obscure Middle
Eastern deity and took the required blackmail photo. And I was on
my way.
I am now a Proud Saturn Owner. I attend barbecues, help out in my
community and continue preparations for world dominance. Soon,
you too will own a Saturn.
Watch out, we're coming.
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