As I wandered through the car yard, I felt eyes on me. They peered at me from dark corners behind tinted glass, watching with insect fascination this bizarre specimen which had stumbled into their lair.

Eventually, after a time calculated precisely to lull me into a false sense of security, one of them pounced.

“Can I help you, sir?” said the salesman. He pronounced the “sir” as if it were something dirty he’d been forced to eat, possibly for a bet or something. I don’t know what salesmen do with their free time.

“No, actually, I’m just waiting for your mate, he’s getting my new car,” I answered.

At that moment a small black bullet of a car leapt from nowhere and slammed into the man, flinging him several feet. I wondered at the lack of a screech of tyres, only to realise that there hadn’t been any. Far from braking, the driver of the car had accelerated, deliberately hitting the hapless salesman and sending him flying.

Now there was the screech of brakes, as a large bald man leapt from behind the wheel. “HE’S MINE” he yelled as he ran to the prone figure lying on the bitumen and began kicking him, each blow punctuated with a further “MINE!”.

This was my sales representative, Brad.

I wasn’t actually suprised by his behaviour, having seen him employ a similar tactic to secure me as a client in the first place. This is a man, I had thought as he picked two other salesmen and bashed them together like cymbals, who honestly wants my business. I did think it might be a little excessive to drive home the point with repeated beating of the other staff, but then, that’s why I’m not in sales. I wondered what the mortality rate at this dealership was.

Brad didn’t really look like a Brad. With his meaty head, large powerful body and rasping voice he looked more like a “Mauler” or “Killer”, but fate and an optimistic set of parents had gifted him with his fairly normal moniker. With his immediate competition bleeding quietly, he jogged enthusiastically over to me and grabbed my hand in his own, a process similar to picking up a clump of pipecleaners with a bunch of bananas.

“So Stu, ready to pick up your new car?” Brad said.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Where is it?”

“Just there,” he said, gesturing to the car he’d appeared in.

“The one you used to run down your colleague?”

“That’s the one. Isn’t she a beaut?”

“She sure is, Brad. She sure is. And she’s now tasted blood already. That’s a good start.”

I walked towards the sleek ebony thing with apprehension. This was my first brand new car, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I walked around to the driver’s side door and got in. Immeditely I spotted the first problem.

“Brad, what the hell is this?” I demanded.

“What?”

“This smell.”

“What smell?”

“This… pleasant fragrance. This is a car, Brad. It should smell like old food and chemicals.” I crossed my arms “This is really disappointing, Brad. Frankly, I expected better”

“…”

“And what’s this?” I pointed at the immaculate upholstery. “Not a single Mysterious Stain. My old car had three, Brad. Three. None of them would come out, no matter what you scrubbed them with. One was even sticky. You’re giving me nothing here.”

“…”

I got out again and began to walk around the car. “I mean, it doesn’t even have any of the standard extras! The windscreen doesn’t have any cracks, the tyres have all their tread…” I lifted the bonnet. “Aha! Not a single oil stain! I bet this thing doesn’t leak at all.”

I turned to face Brad, who was looking at me with a curious expression. “And look at that paintjob. It’s shiny. It’s positively sparkling. Where are the scratches? The rustspots? Where,” I demanded, “is the bird shit?”

Brad took a deep breath, and let it go again in a long sigh. I noticed his shoulders were hunched and he was clenching and unclenching his hands. Probably still worked up from savagely beating his workmates I thought.

“Stu,” he said, calmly, “I think there’s a few things you have a little backwards.”

There followed a tense and one-sided conversation.

“Oh,” I said. “Ooooohhhh.”

“I don’t get it.”

There follow a slightly longer, and significantly more tense conversation.

“Not even some mud streaks?” I asked, incredulous.

“No,” said Brad, breathing easier.

“Huh. Well, learn something new every day I guess. Can I take it now?”

“Please.”

* * *

And so it was that I now find myself the proud owner of a Kia Rio. Yes, it is a “bitch car”, as my brother has now pointed out numerous times, but it’s shiny and new and mine. It has this pristine carpet and interior, and it smells like clean upholstery, which is a smell I hadn’t thought was particularly appealing, but which reaches into the hind brain and says “You are a successful man who is appealing to women.” The lie is delicious.

It has a little button on the key that unlocks the doors remotely, and I’ve spent five minutes just opening and closing the doors and softly giggling.

Yesterday we had a touch of heavy rain, and I actually woke form a deep sleep in the afternoon after work and RAN outside to put the car undercover. I wasn’t fully awake until after I’d got it in the carport out of the rain. It was all instinct, all “protect the car!”.

For a little while I was worried I’d turn into one of those guys who care about their car more than their own personal safety, but then I realised I’m me. I’ll almost certainly be jaded with it by next week.