You Waste My Time At Your Own Risk!

angry-woman

My husband and I are buying a Prius soon.  We both have rather large SUVs which spend an awful lot of time hauling groceries and shuttling our daughter to and from school and extra-curriculars vs. doing all the utilitarian stuff for which they were designed. While neither of us are willing to give our gas guzzlers up for a Prius, the hubby did decide to sell his motorcycle and use the proceeds to buy a highly fuel efficient, aesthetically neutered vehicle to cut our $800 a month gas budget in half.

Selling the bike was the easy part.  Finding the 2007 model grocery-getter in clean, working condition…not so much.  We spent half the morning traveling to a dealership whose manager assured us, when asked if there were any defects we should be aware of before making the drive, that the car we were interested in buying was in excellent condition and totally worth spending three hours round trip to acquire.  Apparently the scoring and discoloration on the dash–where previous owner attacked the thing with Brillo pads and bleach as best we could tell–were not worth mentioning.  I was willing to overlook them too, but when I pointed out the touch screen dash computer that controls…oh…everything…was not working, he actually looked at me with a straight face and asked, “Is that supposed work?”

What?  Just…what?!

We made another three hour trip after work to look at a private party listing that also had no interior or mechanical defects of any kind and which we could absolutely take home tonight. Oh…except for the cigarette burn on the driver’s seat upholstery, the check engine light on, the bad tire sensor…oh and a title that wasn’t in seller’s name.

I swear the next person selling a damned Prius that wastes my time will be going in Book 2 to die a messy, horrible death.

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