…well, at least a couple of them are, anyways…

As they say, every story has its beginning, which is why I should probably start by explaining that this week’s edition of The Humor Column is actually Part 2 of a story that began earlier this month regarding the trials and tribulations that revolve around buying a new car.  That said, if you haven’t read Part 1 yet, you might want to go back and read that one first – it’s ok, we’ll wait – unless, of course, you’re the kind of person who actually prefers to flip to the last page of a book and read the ending first.

I never did understand those weird kinds of people, but we can talk about that later – for now, let’s move along with today’s long-awaited finale to our story…

So anyways, when we last left our hero, he was dreading the upcoming prospect of purchasing a new car worse than riding shotgun with Louie Anderson on the way to the National Pancake Day Celebration at IHOP.  To this mild-mannered, yet impeccably-handsome genius of a man, purchasing a new automobile represented all that was evil in the world today and to set foot into that abyss again after having been savagely taken advantage of merely two and a half years ago was an unthinkable plight of epic proportions, to say the least.  But be that as it may, he was likewise unable to bear the thought of letting his fair maiden walk to the market each day’s morn for his beloved quail eggs and succulent back bacon, and thus into the dragon’s lair he ventured nonetheless to seek out his fuel efficient, hybrid prize.

“Nothing less than a city/highway combined 41 mpg, based on 2010 EPA mileage estimates!” she quipped from the front stoop as she bid him good hunting and a safe return before scurrying off to wash laundry on the rocks down by the creek.

And away I went – I’m not one to drop names, so let’s just say that I went down to my local, neighborhood Rhonda dealer to see what they could offer in terms of vehicles that didn’t moan incessantly from even the mere mention of going for a drive.  Heck, I’ll even profess that outside of that charming, not-at-all embellished medieval introduction, my lovely wife actually did accompany me as well, on account of the fact that sure, it technically was her new car that we were shopping for, and besides, she had managed to finish our creek laundry early that day anyways, so she’d earned it!   We pulled onto that lot with a make and a model already in mind, seeking only a fair price and a friendly handshake in return, and if we were really lucky, maybe a set of complimentary mud flaps when all was said and done, too…

Well, as the story goes, we immediately lucked out, not by way of mud flaps, but instead because the gentleman who helped us was named Scott, which as you may have already picked up on – his name is my name, too! … but without all of the random shouting that the song seems to always infer.  Now just between you and me, if I had it my way, I’d only interact with other people named Scott when I’m out and about … at least as far as dudes are concerned … because, well, what can I say?  We Scotts are generally among the most friendly, charismatic, and trustworthy people you’ll ever meet…

And did I mention that we’re devastatingly attractive, too?

Anyways, as his name would imply, this Scott was about as knowledgeable about Rhonda cars as I am funny about, well, everything, which worked out great because by the end of our test drive with him, we went from consumers who really liked and wanted to buy this car to consumers who absolutely, positively had to buy this car! Of course, we didn’t tell him that at the time because we still needed to buy the thing without plunking down a king’s ransom, to swing the story back to medieval times, however I am pleasantly surprised to report that this adventure was by comparison several orders of magnitude more bearable than our last dance with the devil in the pale moonlight.

Wait – wasn’t that one from Batman?! I’m pretty sure Robin Hood or King Arthur never said anything like that…

The financial negotiation portion of the experience was still a bit tense, as one tends to expect when you’re talking about moneys that are going to take a number of years to payoff, but all in all we were able to get the price down to a figure that did not include handing over my own pants, so I was pretty happy about that.  Overall, a few of the same elements from our previous buying detriment were still present, however two and a half years later they were thankfully just a bit more reasonable this time around.  I mean, they still make you race through the gauntlet of fire, of course, but at least now it’s a standard, regulation-sized gauntlet for all dealerships across the country … plus, if your credit score is high enough, they don’t make you do it blindfolded anymore, which is nice little perk for being fiscally responsible, I thought.

I also haven’t woken up shaking in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, nor have we been visited by a lone messenger “reminding” us about the debt of our first born, either.  I do say with a surprising gasp that the difference was really night and day … it’s almost as if when you’re dealing with nicer, considerably less diabolical salesmen, the car buying experience as a whole can actually be … dare I say, pleasant?!

Of course, we owe an awful lot of it to our trusty salesman, Scott, who truly lived up to his name by providing the astonishing service that only someone named Scott could ever dream of providing – may his story serve not only as a reminder to other Scotts of the great responsibility that they carry, but also to inspire other men who dream of one day changing their name to Scott in order to achieve said awesomeness.

To Scott Himself – thanks again, and do rest well in knowing that my wife absolutely loves her new Rhonda.

To Everyone Else – here’s hoping that when the time comes for your next vehicular purchase of the transportation variety, you find yourself being helped by a Scott.  Don’t be afraid to ask for us by name; we’re definitely worth the wait!