Dave walks into the car shop with a briefcase attached to his wrist via a chain and handcuff system. Apart from the briefcase, his appearence is quite shabby. His jeans are a year old and his jacket is a year older. The motif on his sweater has an earlier year within it. The salesman visibly fails to point like a terrier. Dave wanders over, puts down his briefcase and says, "I'd like to buy a new Ford ShitBox please."
Pamphlets appear, get shuffled, rearranged. Colour options and alloy wheels are mentioned half-heartedly by the salesman. His eye is on the door, watching for a real customer. "I'm sorry, were you expecting someone?" Dave is cool as a bag of pizza. "Let's come to the point. There is a dark blue ShitBox out there that I like the look of. It says fifteen thousand pounds on the road. Can you do it for ten?"
"Of course, we will need to get a loan approved and work out when you can come and pick it up." He sucks the air through his teeth like a prize saddle-sniffer and says, "I'll see what I can do with the price. I'll need to talk to the sales manager first."
Dave raises a hand to stop the free-wheeling sales patter. "I want it today. I won't be needing a loan."
The salesman smiles, "How will you be paying? The banks are closed and I must regretfully inform you that the sales manager has gone home."
"I will be paying cash, and I am sure the sales manager might be 'regretfully' tempted to come back to work for the sight of ten thousand pounds in cash."
"Just one moment." He dissapears into an office, comes back, sits down. "Let's go for a spin while the sales manager comes back."
The spin is gone for and the ShitBox lived up to it's name, though some people like that and Dave is one of them so that is OK. He backs it into the space outside the showroom, pulls the handbrake and says, "Both boaty and slow. I particularly liked the loss of traction round the corners. I definitely want it."
Waiting inside is the sales manager. "Ahh, Mr. er?"
Dave says, "Dave will be fine."
"OK, Dave, though I don't mind telling you that I won't be able to patronise you half as much without using the word 'mister'." He leers obsequeously.
"I'll have to forgo that pleasure in lieu of a big discount for paying cash."
The sales manager leers again. "I am afraid that the price is fixed, though I might interest you in..."
Dave shook his haid, cool as room full of cats on mescalin, saying, "It is this one or nothing. I have ten thousand pounds in cash", he opens the case to show them, "and I know you want it. You do want it don't you?"
The sales manager shrugs helplessly and says, "you could make up the difference with a loan. Other than that there is nothing we can do."
Dave said, "I'd rather choke. Which is to say, I'd rather buy a Renault." He gestures to the Renault dealer across the road, with his chin.
Twenty minutes later he leaves with a new Ford ShitBox and an empty briefcase. And an air of smugness.
