In order to keep my eggs clean, I line my laying boxes with shredded paper. I shred some of my own, and I occasionally bring home shreds from the office. Imagine my surprise when I went to gather eggs and found one egg with the name of my employer on it! I just had to get the picture ...
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"What do you do for a living?" John asked .
"I lay tile."
"You lay tile," John repeated, nonplussed. He looked up briefly before returning to the paperwork and Gary cringed in his seat as the salesman scribbled a notation on one side of the top page.
"Lay tile. And what else? Any other verifiable income?"
"That’s about it," Gary confessed, shrugging his shoulders. "I lay tile and do grout, too. Sometimes vinyl and linoleum. I work for a contractor as an apprentice, of sorts."
Quite suddenly, and with no previous warning whatsoever, his guts did a slow roll, emitting an internal rumble that had to have reverberated throughout the showroom. He squeezed his buttocks together on the chair and kept the pressure on until reasonably certain that the attack had subsided. A quick glance to each side left him assured that no one had heard the internal combustion, and he breathed a sign of relief. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from him.
"You okay, Gary?" John asked, feigning concern. "You just turned bright red for a minute there. Can I get you something?"
Gary swallowed hard...twice, and then mustered up a hot, sweaty smile.
"I’m fine. Stress, that’s all."
"This shouldn’t be stressful, Gary," John said, reaching over to pat him on the hand. "Believe me, you’re gonna get exactly what you came in here looking for...and then some. You’ll be whistlin’ Dixie when you leave here and on the ladder of life experiences, you’ll be on a whole new rung.
"You’ll be in a truck," he concluded smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning as far back as possible in the plastic chair. "And not just any truck, Gary. You’ll be in the truck of your dreams!"
Gary stared back, nodding mutely. His intestines hurt as the pressure of the liquid squirts built up and backed up seemingly to his esophagus.
"Am I right?" John asked exuberantly, raising a triumphant fist into the air. He turned back toward the receptionist.
"Trina. Don’t bother with the value of that Daihatsu. I don’t even care. I’m gonna make this gentleman here one hell of a deal on that Dodge Dakota out there, and I’m gonna just let that Daihatsu float below the bottom line for now.
He turned back to Gary with a twinkle in his eye.
"It’s all gonna work out from here, Gary. We’re on the downhill side of this now. We’ve rounded second, third base is in sight, and we’re about ready to slide down onto home plate. How does that make you feel?"
Gary’s guts rolled again and while he managed to give John a thumbs-up, he couldn’t help but wonder how the guy could be so flippant and happy and so ignorant of what was going down on the other end of the table.
Clutching his gut didn’t help much and he rocked his foot back and forth as the muscles in his buttocks were pressed into duty once again to keep everything contained. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and he backtracked mentally
...lunch yesterday was a bologna sandwich with a bag of chips and a cookie and a tin of sardines and then some pistachios and a grape soda, maybe it was the mayonnaise on the bologna sandwich but I doubt it as Tambria just bought it. Dinner last night was beer and corn tortillas with cheese melted over the tortillas in the microwave and garnished with freshly chopped white onions and salsa from a jar we bought out at the Puyallup Fair but the jar was half empty and no one got sick before so that couldn’t be it and then, oh yes, a handful of beer nuts before bed but they could probably survive five centuries before going bad. Breakfast was...didn’t have breakfast but I did grab three raw weenies out of the hot dog package on the top shelf of the fridge but that couldn’t have done this. Could it have been the salsa, after all?
through everything he had eaten in the past twenty-four hours, but there was little room there for any kind of serious food poisoning.
Nothing there.
Had to be stress creeping up on him.
Gary filled out the credit application, telling the truth where he needed to, and fudging where he could. An extra five grand in annual income here, no mention of other obligations there. Not a whole lot of deceit to be sure, but what did he care? He wasn’t feeling that good anyway.
"I’ll go run these numbers," John said, scanning the application to make certain all the necessary information was there. "I’ll be right back.
"Oh..." he said, pausing to look back past Gary. "Is that your wife?"
Sure enough, it was. Tambria walked toward the table with one hand on her tummy and another pushing the bangs from her face. She hadn’t spotted them yet and Gary waved a hand to get her attention as the salesman walked away.
"How you doing?" he asked, kicking a chair out so she could have a seat.
"Not good," Tambria said. "I’m still okay, I think, but the pains are getting worse again. I just wanted to be with you."
"Me too," Gary said, making a kissing motion with his lips. "I’m sorry this is taking a little longer than I thought it would but you know how these car salesmen are. They’re like sharks that smell blood and once they bite, they don’t let go."
Looking over at her husband, Tambria smiled weakly. She knew that Gary was not as assertive as he thought he was and she hoped he was standing his ground with the salesman. Lately, she had a feeling that they really were not prepared for this child. Sure, they would provide all the love and comfort the baby needed, but with their high credit card debt and Gary’s sometimes-meager income, the financial outlook wasn’t too bright. They would have to rely on government programs and public assistance to help with formula and diapers and that reliance could go up to one hundred percent with a large truck payment. And Gary had been on a spending spree as of late: a new laptop computer, a new digital camera, a new guitar and a brand new camping setup that included a tent, folding chairs, a propane lantern, a cook stove and a solar powered radio. And he hadn’t put down a yard of tile in more than two weeks.
We’ll get through it, he had promised. Everyone has financial difficulties, but you don’t see them out on the street, do you? And besides, they wouldn’t take the house and car knowing that we have a baby to house and feed.
She wasn’t so sure of that.
And here came the salesman, running a hair through his muss of hair as he walked toward the table.
"I have good news," he relayed as he took a seat. "Are you ready for this?"
Gary’s face brightened and he leaned forward with anticipation.
"I’ve run your credit scores and your application. Looks like I can get you into that ’04, Gary! What do you about that?"
"You’re awesome!" Gary exclaimed, giving the salesman a thumbs-up. "Yeah, you’re right. I do have some credit card debt and some other liabilities, but I never thought I could afford an ’04."
"You can’t beat our prices," the salesman said proudly, pointing to a vinyl banner on the wall that said the same thing. "Now, all we need to get squared away is the down payment, and you’ll be on your way!"
"The down payment?" Gary repeated, his voice falling flat.
"Well that’s the good news I was talking about," the salesman returned, shuffling some of the paperwork. "The first lender required a $4,000 down payment, but I worked through a gamut of lenders and found one that would take $2500 down. That’s a substantial drop, Gary. And let’s face it, $2,500 isn’t all that much money. According to your credit app, that’s less than your gross income for one month - about three weeks, to be precise. You’re not going to miss out on an ’04 by three weeks, are you?"
"I," Gary started helplessly, looking over at Tambria. His voice was little more than a squeak. "I can’t do it, John. Look, I told you when I got here that I didn’t have any money to put down. And you said you could work with that."
Tambria nodded when Gary looked up at her. It made her proud to see him stand his ground.
"I am working with that, Gary," John said. "I’ll tell ya what. I know you’re getting ready to have a baby and all, but give me a few minutes to go talk to my manager. This is going to be the happiest day of your life with the baby and all, and I’m just not going to let this truck deal be a gray cloud in your sunny day. And I’m not going to let a paltry $2,500 ruin things for you.
"I’ll be back."
While he was gone, Gary and Tambria sat quietly, staring around the dealership as other buyers milled about. When Gary finally asked how she was getting along, she told him she was fine. Borderline fine. But she knew she was getting close. Thank God the hospital was just a few miles up the road. Now, even she wondered if they would be going to the hospital in a new truck. It would make things a lot more comfortable.
"He’s coming back," Gary whispered excitedly, nudging her foot beneath the table. Tambria could see that his fingers were crossed.
John walked up and took a seat between the couple, but said nothing.
Several moments passed.
"Well?" Gary asked finally, scratching his nose.
"It’s looking good," John assured him, scooting back to cross his legs. "They’re still running the numbers to find something that works for you. Should only be a few more minutes."
The three sat quietly for several minutes, until Gary broke the silence.
"So how do you like this job?" he asked. It was more than simple small talk; Gary was wondering if this could be an alternative to grout work. He’d seen plenty of help-wanted ads in the local daily paper recruiting automotive sales professionals and they all said "no experience needed, will train."
"Job?" John asked, a hint of disdain in his voice. "This isn’t a job, Gary. This is what I do. I do this all day long, seven days a week. And now I’m doing it to you."
"Seven days a week?" Gary asked incredulously, totally missing the point. "You don’t ever get a day off?"
"I work on commission," came the answer. "No base salary, commission only. It’s like fishing - you gotta keep your line in the water.
"I do get days off on occasion," he admitted, tracing an invisible circular pattern on the table with his finger. "They let me out of here last Sunday to go to a Mariner’s game. But my GM went with me."
His tone dropped to a dangerous level. "They’ve got to be sure I come back."
Gary looked over at Tambria. Laying tile didn’t sound that bad in light of what John was saying. He had lots of days off. Too many, as a matter of fact.
"I’ve often wondered what life would be like on the outside," John breathed, still toying out patterns on the table with his finger. He looked up sharply at Gary. "You know, a wife, a kid, hobbies...the simple pleasure of going to a bank to cash a paycheck. It’s all direct deposit here."
A man in a pressed white shirt and narrow, black tie walked up and John flashed the two a warning glance as if to let them know that there was to be no more discussion on the current subject. John took a long sheet of paper from the man and reviewed it as he walked away.
"Oh, this is great news," he said after scanning through the document. "You’re gonna like this, Gary.
"I told my boss about the baby and all, and told him about how eager you are to wrap this up in a hurry, and how nice a guy you are. He’s made you one heck of a deal, Gary. But before I get into it I gotta tell you one thing: this is one for the record books. I’ve never seen him do this before."
Tambria cried out as another, stronger contraction stabbed downward through her abdomen and she looked over at Gary for support. But Gary’s attention was riveted to the salesman.
"So? What it is, John?"
"I still can’t get over this," the salesman answered, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. He leaned toward Gary and spoke with a conspiratorial tone. "He’s knocked $1,501 off your down payment, Gary. That puts you at under $1,000 cash out of pocket to wrap up this transaction and get you on your way. And from what I see here, it looks like you’re going to have to get this lovely lady out of here pretty quickly.
"Of course, your interest rate went up a couple of points...up to twelve point five percent, but that’s small potatoes on any loan that’s less than $50,000, and it’s just a couple of points over what you’re paying on the Daihatsu. Raises your monthly payment only twenty dollars.
"All things considered, this is your lucky day, Gary!"
Gary sat quietly, his mind racing. He did have about twelve hundred dollars in the bank, but that was for rent and for miscellaneous stuff they’d need for the baby. He did the math, rounding up where need be and rounding down in other places.
"I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, John," he said at last, "but I can only give you $800 down. That’s my final offer. I just can’t go any higher."
John sat quietly, staring down at the numbers in front of him.
"I’m going to have to talk to my manager again," he said, picking up the paper. "But I gotta tell you, I don’t know if this will fly. They’ve already cut more than $1,500 off your down payment, Gary. That’s some serious money - money that comes straight out of my pocket, too. I’ll go check but if I were you, I’d think about that extra $200, Gary. That’s only like six bucks a day for a month. One pack of cigarettes a day."
"I don’t smoke," Gary countered.
"A couple of lattes."
"I buy cheap coffee in a can."
"A couple of dinners out in a month."
"We don’t eat out. Haven’t for quite a number of months."
"A six pack of beer a day."
Gary had no answer on that one. He’d be damned if he was going to cut into his daily beer supply to buy a truck. Not if there was a glimmer of hope that the general manager would knock another measly two hundred bucks off the down payment.
"I’ll see what I can do. But think about it, Gary. It will make it a lot easier."
While he was gone, Tambria leaned forward and glared at him.
"What are you doing, Gary? That money is for rent and the baby. It’s money that my parents gave us to help out. You can’t spend it on this truck. Not one dollar of it!"
"Tambria - "
"No!" she shot back as another wave of pain washed through her pelvic area. "What part of ‘no’ aren’t you understanding, Gary? I, too, was almost convinced this was a good idea, but now I just want to get back into our familiar little car and go have this baby."
Gary did more fast mental calculations and weighed the risks of arguing.
Those who reap fantastic rewards are willing to take tremendous risks, he thought. He’d heard that on a radio commercial last week while driving home from The Manette Saloon. He would take one today. Right now, as a matter of fact.
"There is no payoff in life without a little risk," he paraphrased, speaking gently to his wife. "Listen, Tambria. Please hear me out. This is the here and now and things look a little bleak, but we’ll get through it. I have a plan."
"A plan," she dead-panned. "A plan. You’ve always got a plan, Gary."
"No," he said with conviction, knowing that this was his final chance to get the truck, "it’s not like before. Just hear me out. I know the $800 is for rent but I can sell our trailer and make it up. We haven’t used it since we moved. It’s just sitting there."
"You can’t sell the trailer," Tambria pointed out, exasperated. "We still owe my dad $500 for that trailer."
"I think that if I could put a new coat of paint on it and polish the wheels really good, I could sell it for about $1,300. It’s worth $1,500. Your dad told us that when we bought it from him."
"Paint costs money," Tambria countered. "How will you get the paint?"
She had him. Almost had him.
"I’ll sell one of our television sets," he answered smoothly, proud to have been able to turn so quickly on a dime. "We have that old Sanyo console set in the garage. Heck, Tambria, it’s just eating up space. We - well, you - almost hit the darn thing every time you pull into the garage. I can run an ad in the paper and get $50 for it. That’s more than enough to cover the cost of paint."
Tambria sighed and slumped back in her chair. She saw John walk out of the sales manager’s office and caught his eye.
"Just do what you need to do, Gary," she sighed. "All I care about now is this baby. I don’t give a damn about the truck. But you’d better have a plan to cover whatever you do here today."
"I do have a plan," he said with confidence. "It will work out in the end, honey. Just trust me. Rent’s not due for another...twelve days and we’ve paid up to eight or ten days late in the past without catching a whole lot of flak from the landlord."
His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "Trust me. I’ll handle it."
And with that, John pulled out a chair and sat down at the table again.
"They’re still working it," he said. "Running through a few more lenders. We’ll know shortly."
"It will have to be shortly," Tambria said, grimacing as she bit down on the ongoing pains. "I’m not having my baby here at the dealership."
"Oh," John assured. "That wouldn’t be good. But it wouldn’t be all that bad, either. We have two retired nurses on our staff. In fact, one of them - Susan - used to work up there at Hardisson hospital up the road."
"How much longer?" Tambria asked anxiously after several more minutes passed. "I’m not feeling all that well."
"Any moment now," John assured, reaching over to pat her on the hand. Gary watched him as a farmer would watch over the hen house.
Two minutes passed in silence.
"So," John asked as the minutes dragged on. "Where will you go on your first trip?"
"Well," Gary answered, hesitating a bit. "I hadn’t thought that far ahead. But now that you mention it, I think a nice run up to Mt. St. Helens and back would be a lot of fun. I could probably find an old rutted road and put the four wheel drive through its paces."
He turned toward Tambria, his face brightening. "That’s a great idea! Honey, now we can haul cargo! We could load up the new tent and some fishing poles and the Coleman lantern and a bag of jerky and maybe get some beer and we could find a good place to hole up overnight and camp out! It would be like a second honeymoon!"
"Sounds to me like it would be a honeymoon between you and your truck," Tambria answered icily, doing her best to control her breathing. "I’d like to think that our first trip would be to the hospital. And right about now would be a good time to get going, Gary."
"Ah," John responded, winking at the young mother-to-be. "Good common-sense idea. But we’re still waiting on a phone call back from two finance companies. If you could sit tight for just another few minutes, I think we can wrap this up and get you on your way.
"Could I get you some water?"
"We’re going to need more than water if this takes much longer," she answered shortly, clenching both fists as another wave of pain washed through her lower abdomen.
As if on queue, she stiffened in her chair and then slumped, her face contorted.
"You okay, hon?" Gary asked, watching the activity in other parts of the showroom.
"I think my water broke!" she answered, breathing shallowly. "We’re going to have to go. Now, Gary."
"I’ll be right back," John said with alarm, jumping to his feet. "Don’t you move an inch. We take care of our customers here and I’ll make sure you get immediate assistance."
Tambria leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs out as far as possible beneath the table while concentrating on her breathing. Though she had hoped not to go into active labor at the dealership, she found relief in John’s immediate reaction to the new crisis and was glad that she soon would be getting professional medical attention.
A sudden flurry of activity startled her and she propped her head up in time to see two men approaching with what appeared to be a stretcher or a backboard, but it had little wheels under it. One of the men asked how to position her on the "creeper dolly," but those words meant nothing to her. Expecting to see EMT’s with a gurney, she frowned and asked what was going on. Peripherally, she could see Gary talking to John and gesticulating wildly with both arms and then a plastic mask was slipped over her nose and mouth and there was a telltale hiss of gas and then a prick of a needle in her arm and she could feel herself being moved from the chair to the creeper dolly and her thoughts went to ice cream sundaes and large, expansive fields of daisies and then
Wait a minute! This is not right! What are you doing to me?
she had an alarming thought, but forgot what it was only moments later.
»» CLICK HERE FOR PART THREE (OF FOUR)
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Jim W. Coleman is an accomplished author and artist from Port Orchard, Washington, a small community directly across the Puget Sound from Seattle.
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