There’s nothing like a sense of urgency to convince oneself that normally irrational behavior is acceptable because you need to get it done, and chances are you’d end up making the same decision more or less anyway – so just cut out all the unnecessary planning and preparation and just make a decision and stick to it. No regrets, no remorse, just a sense of accomplishment at being a man of action.
That was the plan.
I now own a minivan.
Let me go back a little and fill in some of the blanks.
Jimmy is a bit of a car whore. Which is an understatement, but despite our many years of acrimonious exchanges (these are the ones where money leaves my pocket and goes into his) I have to say that Jimmy was there for me.
After the death of the Pulsar, Jimmy gave me fifty bucks and towed it around back of his shop and put it with the other neighborhood derelicts. Jimmy was looking pretty proud of himself, and put a hand on my shoulder. “How you plan on getting around Johnny? Bus?”
I’ll stop here and set the record straight. I am not Johnny, or Jonathan, or Jon, or Jack – if someone can tell me how in the hell Jack is short for John please let me know. I especially hate it when Jimmy calls me Johnny.
“I’ll be using the Fargo I ‘spose.”
Jimmy tapped my shoulder and turned me around so that I was looking at the open bay door to his shop where my beloved Fargo was up on the hoist looking a bit like a small beached whale. “About that, I’ve been meaning to call you. The tranny is shot on the beast, and I’m pretty sure I can get my hands on something that’ll fix it up, but it’s going to take me about a week to put the guts back in and get ‘er back on the road.
Oh lord the bus. There was no way I was going to be stuck trying to lug my tools around on the bus. I suppose I could call Margaret and we could go car shopping. It had been years since I’d been car shopping. It’s not that I was afraid of car shopping – I was afraid of the salesmen, and I was more afraid of the hidden manager guy behind the curtain who held the fate of my purchase in his hands.
Jimmy then said an odd thing. “You need a new car. What say you and me go out and take a look see and see what’s out there? Who knows it could be fun.”
Now I have to be honest, the last couple of years have kicked the shit out of my wallet what with the down turn and all, and people have been holding on to their cash. So it wasn’t like I was going to be shelling out for something off the showroom floor. Anyway Jimmy and I hashed out a few things over a coffee. What was I looking for, what was I using it for, how long did I want it to last (apparently forever isn’t a viable option).
So we spent the day wandering from dealership to dealership kicking tires, and test driving everything in my price range. Jimmy was having a blast, and I was actually enjoying myself. But nothing was really tickling my fancy. Then near the end of the day we found the van. I laughed and said there was no way I was going to get a minivan. Minivans were for soccer mom's and pussy whipped men. But Jimmy winked at the salesman, which I found very unsettling, and the two of them proceeded to show me the features. There was a lot of space – as much as the Fargo. There was seating, more than the old Pulsar. It was up high like the truck, and it had decent power, and it had a nice stereo. After a bit of cajoling the salesman handed me the keys and we took it for a drive.
I hate to say it, but I was hooked. Jimmy could tell too, because he was grinning. “Who’d a thunk huh Johnny? A minivan. Okay, let’s take it to the shop I want to take a look at this thing and see what’s under the under bits.”
So we did and Jimmy poked and prodded and looked in the weird dark places and pronounced it good enough for Johnny. So we drove back to the dealership where the salesman was waiting and when he saw us pull in he looked relieved. I suppose we were gone a while.
He met me at the door before I could get out. “So what do you think?”
“I think we’re going to have to sit down and see what your manager thinks about what I’m going to offer."
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