The salesman at Van Nuys Chevy was twenty eight years old, tops, two diamond stud earrings. He grinned too much.
He did it again, as we walked off the back lot into the office.
“You are what you drive,” he reminded me. All those teeth. Then he motioned me in to his felt-lined gray cubicle with the elegance of an intern about to examine my prostate.
A half-hour later and I was a 1992 Chevy Silverado Club Cab pickup. An hour ago I was a 1998 Corvette. The difference in cost between being a Corvette and being a used Silverado Club Cab? Twelve thousand dollars. I folded the check and put it in my pocket.
Maybe, not so much like a prostate examination. More like a sex-change. With a rebate.