The Scoop

I’m taking a break from Talk Like a Pirate Day. It’s exhausting. Adding “me hearties” or “scurvy dogs” is tiring. You have to decide if the person you’re talking to is a scurvy dog, a scallywag or a hearty. But it’s fun to say, “arrr”.

We bought a car yesterday. The Lovely Wife’s car was destroyed by a moron who apparently does not understand the simple properties of matter. That is to say that he is not able to pass through matter, much like the rest of the human race.

After a protracted argument with various insurance companies, we finally received a settlement and were able to search for a car.

We looked a few, kind of liked them and then wandered over to a Saturn dealer. Score point number one, it’s named after a planet. Geek!

On the lot we spoke with a very nice salesperson who asked us all sorts of questions about what we wanted, etc. He suggested an Ion for our needs. It was smaller than we were thinking about, but its name is a physics term. Geek point! We discussed the finer points of Ions and how they steal electrons from other atoms. No, we talked about the car.

“It fits a big guy like you” said the salesman.

Big? Me? Okay, I’m over 200 pounds but I’m not immensely fat. Not like people call me Shamu or I hide ham sandwiches in my fat folds. No one has ever mistaken me for the reincarnation of Mama Cass. I’m six feet tall, sure. And, again, over 200 pounds. I’ve never been referred to as a “big guy”.

I’m not sure if I was offended. Was he referring to my need to shed a few pounds or did he mean that I’m scary big? Was he afraid that if he pissed me off I’d shove a fist down his throat and pull out his uvula? I doubt it because there’s not a lot about me that screams “violent.” Especially considering I was wearing a Mickey Mouse T-shirt. If anything he’d peg me as a pathetic idiot who couldn’t let go of his childhood.

We went inside and looked at the Ion. Got to sit inside one, touch it in its special places and climb in the trunk. I noticed that this particular model had a built in MP3 player. Sweet! Geek point! Alas, to my chagrin, the MP3 player was not available on the models we could afford. Crap. Minus Geek Point and penalty shot for assuming a Geek Point.

So we started talking about the cars and we found out that if we purchase a 2003 model, we’ll get a free computer. Geek Point! We need a new computer for the kitchen and, even a barebones, off the shelf system will provide us with what we need. Only drawback is that it comes with WordPerfect. Who the hell uses WordPerfect?

We decide to go on a drive. I get in the front side passenger seat and I think, “Holy crap! It’s a shuttle craft from a bad 1970s Sci-Fi movie. I love it!” I didn’t admit that, though.

The salesman took us on a high-speed drive down some back roads to show us how peppy this thing is. And it is. Dangerously peppy. My wife, in the back seat, was beaming with glee. Salesman then takes us to an empty parking lot to show us how the car can drive in small circles. Woah. I never thought I’d find that cool. But I did. Wow.

Turns out we had an ionic bond.

Wife assumes the driving position and we dart around for fun. Within minutes she’s screaming, “Me likey! Me likey! Me likey!” Upon return, I ask why the doors and quarter panels feel funny. Salesman then proceeds to beat the living hell out of the door, with no visible damage.

“We’ll take it!” yells the wife.

“Not that one though,” I said. “I think you just wounded its esteem and I can’t handle the drama of owning an emotionally damaged car.”

We finally found the exact car we want, as I’m drooling over the thought of a new computer and a car that looks like something I could ride from one end of Kingdom City to another in a John Varley novel.

That’s when the strange stuff started happening. Salesman is enamored with Scotland and bagpipes. Mother-in-law plays them. Twenty minute conversation. Salesman vacationed where Richard Feynman grew up. Twenty minute discussion. We fill out paper work, put down money and head out while they process everything.

When we return, financing guy isn’t ready, so we talk about poetry, which he writes. Turns out we know a lot of people in the same poetry circles. Strange.

While finishing up the financing, the finance manager shows us a Turkey Caller that he has in his filing cabinet. We had a ten-minute conversation about a Turkey Caller.

All in all it was one hell of a surreal experience. But it was a three Geek Point experience, so I’m happy.

We pick up the Ion today. Wife and kids will name it then. I’ve given all sorts of ideas, but it will probably end up with some screwed up name like “Noodle”.

Oh, and good news . . . if you go to Google and search for Talk Like a Pirate Day, click on the similar pages link next to the official link. You’ll get this. I’m sandwiched between the official site and The Wiggles! And Stereolab is at the bottom of the page! Groovy!

Avast, me hearties!

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