11th
mullet mission: lexus test drive
location: lexus dealership in a suburb
time: friday afternoon
attire: t-shirt with engine, flames and the word ‘freedom’ on it (no sleeves), sunglasses, energy drink.
after realizing that my trip to walmart was perhaps playing on a predictable extreme, i decided to take my train wreck of a hairdo to the other retail extreme — a luxury car dealership.
on the way to the lexus dealership i decided i needed an energy drink for the test drive so i stopped into a gas station. let’s pick the story up there…
——-
once inside the convenience store i locate the energy drinks. there are no fewer than two dozen options — ranging from little shots to cans as tall as a small child. i opt for what appears to be the most common size. this narrows my choices to about ten. i begin surveying the remaining candidates, catching a glimpse of my mullet in the reflection in the door just as i come to the “full throttle” variety. i immediately conclude that this is no coincidence. i open the door and remove the 16 ounce chalice of rage (see: prop) that i have no intention of drinking.
the cashier asks me if i would like a free sample of camel snus. i have no idea what snus is. i play along with a hearty “oh hell yeah” and reach for the tin she shoves across the counter. she offers me a second tin. i take both. i was the only customer who was offered snus. of course i assume mullet profiling.
i arrive at the lexus dealership in my little toyota yaris. this car does not fit my look. i know this and decide to go with the angle that it is my mother’s car. my truck was totaled and mom agreed to buy me a new ride, provided it was japanese. hence the shopping trip.
i enter through the service garage and act confused. a patron and employee make eye contact. “cars…” i mutter from behind my sunglasses. the employee perks up.
“you’re looking for a car? new or used?”
i am ushered into the dealership. a long counter full of people on phones takes notice. a couple of them smirk and whisper to each other. i wander into the showroom.
in front of me i see a $50k SUV. i walk around the car. “looking at the wheels” or whatever you’re supposed to do.
“solid wheels” i mutter.
i walk over to a receptionist.
“ever take that baby out?” i point to the car i was eyeing.
“excuse me?” she is confused.
“that guy… ever drive it?”
she offers to get me some help. a few moments later a female salesperson emerges and introduces herself. i figure that my haircut would suggest a high level of discomfort with a “chick dealer” trying to tell me about a car, but her smile is too warm. she’s like someone’s mom who wants to sell me a luxury vehicle.
we exchange small talk. i let on that i am a musician. i have her guess what instrument. she guesses correctly (drums) on the second try. she’s good. too good. she offers to bring around the wood-trimmed SUV i am feigning interest in. there’s no turning back now.
before leaving to fetch the ride she explains that lexus owners are buying more than just a car. they are buying an experience — an experience that includes cappuccino, a free office to work in, a theater with leather chairs and so on. this owners-only area is where i will wait for her.
while waiting i break out the energy drink that has been protruding form my pocket while i walked around the dealership. i pour some of it into a classy lexus cup. it is the most unnaturally yellow liquid i have ever seen. i take a sip and begin talking to fellow lexus owners. i approach an older gentleman who is reading the wall street journal.
“you a lexus man, too?” i ask, lowering my sunglasses so he can see my eyes. he nods. not much more. i engage another couple. they offer just enough small talk to remain polite. i smooth out my shirt so the word “freedom” is clearly visible. i offer a few of the owners “a rip” from my full throttle. they all decline. politely, of course.
what is going on here? it’s a bizarro walmart. nobody is fazed.
the dealer eventually pulls up in the SUV. i get into the vehicle. it feels more like a living room than a car. with an almost apologetic tone she explains that it is a hybrid. we drive for a few miles. i test out all the appropriate things. brakes, energy drink holder, stereo. i interrupt her to rock out to zeppelin. she smiles, waits for me to finish and continues her pitch. this woman is a pro. i am getting no reaction.
i make a “joke” about spilling my full throttle on the wood trim: nothing.
i ask her if we can take the lexus off some jumps: nothing.
i explain that i once drove my mother’s acura SUV but don’t remember it because it was late and i was blacked out: nothing.
we get back to the lot and i point out my yaris, claiming that it is my mother’s car (thereby contradicting the acura story): nothing.
simply put, she is steel — holding it together better than a poker player who just pushed ‘all in’ with 2-7 offsuit. perhaps it’s the fact that i represent a huge sale. perhaps lexus dealers just assume a high degree of intent when someone walks through the door. perhaps my sunglasses look more expensive than they were ($7).
——-
or perhaps i had stumbled upon a level of mulletism so seasoned — so well-disguised — that it’s barely recognizable. a quiet, calculated sort of judgment. a high-class hatred. yes, the more i thought about it the more i realized my theory was right. the only smirks and snickers came from the handful of younger (see: rookie) associates. they have a lot to learn from their veteran counterparts.
without careful review of the mission i might have assumed that the dealer didn’t judge me — that the suit reading his WSJ didn’t harbor disdain for the business/party convergence taking place atop my noggin — that the couple drinking cappuccino wasn’t the type to make sure everyone knows they “have a few friends with mullets” right before they make a generalization about my kind at a dinner party (“i don’t want to sound mulletist, but…”)
did i go home with a new lexus that day? no. all i got was two free tins of snus. and a new sense of confusion about which flavor of mulletism hurts the worst.
-bifpib-
