Karma, You're My Homegirl

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Remember Salesman X? I understand, he's a little difficult to forgot. But I have another amusing little story about him. (Oh! If he could only read this and understand the hours of mirth I get out of telling and re-telling his tale of woe and embarassment. I'd venture to say he would need years of therapy.)

Pre Hand Job Incident, Salesman X bought a car from the company and I took care of his paperwork. I made a tidy little sum off of him (the profit off interest rates and product sales is purely at my discretion, I can choose to mark either up as high as I choose as long as it's within state limits) right around nine hundred dollars. Now, please understand, whether an employee is purchasing a vehicle or a regular customer, I am more than happy to bargain regarding product prices and interest rates. But when they don't so much as put up a fight, I see no reason to discount anything.

It was public knowledge that I actually profited the company off an employee, earning respect from my managers and good-natured ribbing from my salespeople. The general school of thought was that if he was stupid enough to let me, why not? He knew what he could get, yet he forfeited his rights of lower prices in favor of reaching across the desk, patting my hand and saying "I don't mind if you make a profit off me, as long as you make money."

*cue the wretching*

This past week, he decided to purchase another vehicle, this would be Post Hand Job Incident. He had taken quite a bit of flak for allowing me to profit the company, so he had a pretty fool-proof plan designed as to how I wouldn't make a penny. Which was more than fine with me. It's been a long month and I just wanted to get his paperwork finalized. Through the entire paperwork process he went on and on about how I will not be making ANY money off of him and how I would never "rip him off" every again.

However, his fool proof plan? His personal bank loan? Hah. Didn't happen. His bank of choice refused to loan him the money. Which meant that I was responsible for securing his loan. Now, let's all think about the logistics of this. Do you think, after everything I've been through with this sniveling weasel, I am going to even ATTEMPT to get any sort of favors pulled at the bank for a lower interest rate? You can bet your sweet rosary not.

So. He resigned the paperwork. Gratefully, actually. He was quite thankful that I had gotten him approved, period. However it was at a much, much higher interest rate than he thought he deserved. I gave him some nice little speech about refinancing the loan in a year. But the most beautiful part of the entire thing wasn't sticking him with an obscene interest rate, it was the quiet knowledge I just made the company a cool fifteen hundred dollars.

Since he was blissfully unaware of the $40 extra he would be paying in his car payment of interest alone, I was unable to say:

"Consider this a tax, for the next seven years you will be forced to think on a monthly occasion of how you should never, ever say foolish things about non-existant sexual favors. Actually, if you ARE getting sexual favors, you shouldn't be talking about it period. But that is another lesson for another day. Because, if you had just kept your vile trap shut, you would be able to SAVE that $40 and buy a handjobs on a regular basis. Any way you look at it, you got screwed. You didn't get a handjob in the first place and you most certainly won't be able to afford them now."

4 Responses to “Karma, You're My Homegirl”

  1. Anonymous steelcowboy 

    What goes around, comes around, mostly.
    And usually bites them in the ass.

  2. Anonymous QOS 

    dahling - i'm so proud to call you a friend.

    i will send all my enemies to buy cars off of you.

  3. Anonymous Vulgar Wizard 


  4. Anonymous Hipchick 

    That's how it's done PC!

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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