Moon Puff
I walked into the Marxell Motors showroom with my girlfriend, Fleur Harper, and got straight to the point: I wanted to look at the SX.
The salesman, Lenny Sloan, gave me a once-over, then acted like he hadn't heard a word. He pulled Fleur aside instead, all smiles.
"You've got a great eye," he told her. "People are lining up just to put a deposit down on this one."
I trailed along and cut in, frowning. "Can I take it for a test drive?"
He didn't even look up. "This one's sixty-eight grand out the door. You sure you want to try it?"
"I'm sure."
He sighed like he was doing me a favor, then walked me around the car, dripping condescension the whole way.
"A car to keep up appearances, sure, that's fine. Just don't get too full of yourself. It's seven hundred a month on the financing. You sure you can keep that up?"
I kept my face flat and didn't answer. He leaned in and dropped his voice.
"Real talk, man, what do you even do for work? Fresh out of school and already buying a luxury car?"
I fired back with a question about the trim specs. He waved me off.
"Not bad, you actually did your homework. But I already sent the details to your girl. Go hash it out with her."
I swallowed my anger, finished negotiating the price, and put down the deposit.
A week later, Fleur got a message: the dealership wanted her to come pick up the car.
I called the dealership to ask what was going on. The man on the other end didn't bother hiding his contempt.
"That deposit—who knows whose money that really was. You're wearing five-dollar canvas sneakers. No way you can afford an SX. Whoever's footing the bill gets the call to come pick it up. Problem?"
No problem at all. After all, I was just a mystery shopper sent from corporate.