Sale of a Truck

Sale of a Truck

this is an old post from 2012 that I never published but it made me laugh, so here it is

It is official, you can know absolutely nothing about a product as long as you have the stamina to listen, provide positive reinforcement and listen some more.

I sold a truck yesterday. I had some assistance by my good friend Radek. When I didn’t think I could keep listening and watching the mock trapped animal charade, Radek stepped in and took on some of the listening. At one point I left the showroom, took a walk around the back of the dealership in hopes that the customer had given up and left or that Radek had decided to take over the sale.

That was wishful thinking.

When I got back from my 5 minute walk that included a call to my sister, Radek and my customer were hovering around my desk.

I wanted so badly for them to go away so I ignored both and started reading the newspaper online at my desk. I was doing everything except show interest in making a dollar.

Getting into the second hour of this sale, I reluctantly went back and forth between the customer and management. This simply means I became a messenger of information between two disagreeing parties that both wanted something of which neither wanted to make concessions.

What management had in their favour; they knew the customer wanted the truck and would eventually give in and buy in some capacity.

Into hour 2, management finally agreed to get involved.


At this point, I more than wanted to go home, I admit I checked out. I sat in the office with management and along with the customer and watched a boring conversation about possibilities. It took 55 minutes when the customer said “I’ll take the truck”

I woke up slightly and did my sales part, “Great sir, we’ll need a deposit to take the truck out of sale inventory and start the process of preparing it for delivery.”

“Ok, ummmm, well I have $50, here you are.” As he’s handing over .001% of what the truck is worth!

Let’s stop here for a second while I explain two important items.

First, most Saturday’s in the morning sales meetings management makes a big point about asking for a $2,000 deposit regardless of the vehicle sold; so this $50 offering was a little slap in the face. I was so tempted to take the $50 and not try for the $2,000 deposit to make a point.

Second, I have been taught to think and use my mind to make decisions. This means figuring out what the end result of each decision might be like – its a little like choose your own adventure stories. This thinking process does take me a few seconds however. One fine day this past month, management caught me spending a few seconds deciding on the best course of action and was thoroughly reprimanded. “Sales people do NOT think, they act, go and do your job!”. ๐Ÿ™‚

So when I was offered a $50 deposit, I did what I was told not to do…I took a few seconds to think.

As mentioned earlier, I seriously considered just taking the $50 ๐Ÿ™‚ and dealing with being reprimanded but I figured it would be much more fun swiping a credit card for $2,000.

I calmly looked at the customer,”$50 would be great however you mentioned you have cash back on your Visa and you are trying to get to $600 cash back by Christmas. Let me help you out meeting that goal and let’s put $2,000 on your credit card.”

“Great idea!”

He handed over his credit card and with that I was saddled with a sale that I had desperately tried to avoid.

The Paddywack

Not very often do I feel that shock, the kind that takes your breath away, makes you blush and pretty much want to re-wind.

Its been pretty hot lately all over North America and hot weather means cotton and cotton dresses happen to be the coolest thing to wear. So getting ready for an evening out being entertained at a friends house I choose my jersey dress that I hardly ever wear.

You see jersey isn’t all that flattering. It hangs and shows all the lumps and bumps and underwear lines. But when it’s hot, who cares?! Besides if I paid attention and didn’t tug it here and there I knew I could make it through the evening quite ok.

What I wasn’t anticipating was to be paddywacked not once, twice but three times in quick succession by a not so serious 7-year old. LOL.

I am sure if my face was caught on film it would have captured the horror from the sensation of my buttocks rising and falling underneath my jersey dress. That OMG this feels HORRIBLE and likely looks even worse!

My fellow ladies, you know what I am talking about. Its not the initial act of a paddywack but rather the resulting jiggle that ensues.

I waited for the jiggles to stop, unwound my face and had to laugh.

As for the dress, it has been hung quietly in the back of my closet.

My Blackberry and why I want RIM to get it together

There are more negative articles surrounding Blackberry maker RIM than there are positive. Yes there was that one mostly positive article (here) a week ago from the new CEO Thorsten Heins.

My point of view is unfortunately biased by the media even though I own and love my BB.

1. The board of directors need to get their heads out of the sand and focus on re-building a business.

2. The BB10 better be what they loosely en vision it to be and be “revolutionary”, whatever that means today.

I will cry if they fail to turn the company around. Ya, it’s pretty cool its a Canadian company but I wouldn’t even care if it was an empire built in Antarctica.

What I like about my Blackberry (and I’ve tried iPhone, and Samsung) are the following and though these may seem silly they are big deals to me :).

1. I can drop it down a flight of 50 cement stairs multiple times and it still works. I accept that I should be nominated for the klutz of the year award.

2. It has a full and easy to use keypad. Most of my blog posts are written on my Blackberry including this one.

3. I have all the apps I need to function in my daily life. I mean if I was an MI-5 spy I’d need something with less of a keyboard and more gadgetry. But today in my less exciting life I don’t need an app called “slap the kitty” or any other useless time consuming app. I have a list of other more interactive useless things to do with my useless time…

4. I like BB Messenger even if most of my friends have moved to other devices. I still like updating the little picture and adding random comments that usually hold no purpose or meaning. Its much less intrusive than Facebook.

5. I can type over 40 words per minute on my device – ok I haven’t timed myself but I’ll take on the challenge. Maybe there is an app for than on an Apple product ๐Ÿ™‚

Trust me, there are things I don’t like about my BB, like how it synchronizes with my laptop; it is super annoying and complicated. And how small the screen is; that’s me in the corner with my giant magnifying glass trying to read the news in size minuscule font.

Most of all I get pretty attached to my electronic devices. I find ways to let them help me do things more efficiently and I don’t feel like having to learn another operating system and re-organize my electronic life around someone else’s idea of efficiency.

Just like I miserably let go of my old Nokia’s, I fear some day soon I’ll also be going through the same break-up pain with my BB :(.

Get it together RIM!

Oh it’s good to be back

Oh it’s good to be back

Its been 8 days…8 days is a long time in coffee world. I’ve tried out Broad Ripple coffee and I dislike failing independent coffee places, but I am super excited about my Free Trade, Organic, Bird Friendly coffee who’s beans were grown under the cover of tree canopy.

My favourite brew is from coffee beans grown by women, sold by women to women!

I swear I am not a hardcore feminist who’d burn her bra in the street but tell me it doesn’t make you a little glad that oppressed women in a third world country are taking a stand and making a difference for both their little girls AND boys.

Plus I miss eavesdropping on my fellow coffee mates. Most of all I miss vibrating after drinking a cup of coffee.

I am easy to spot on my way home especially after days of going without. I’ll be the one with flailing arms, trying to walk straight and no I am not drunk, just oddly caffeinated…

Ok so maybe that’s a bit over-dramatized but I swear there is something special about the caffeine in this coffee.

Could it be where the beans are purchased, roasted, ground, brewed?

Who knows.

I just know that when I travel I have a little ache in my heart from missing my coffee shop…

Oh America…

Oh America…

Its 104ยฐF, 40ยฐC. Its a dry heat. I imagine this is what Arizona should feel like.

I wonder what it would be like to stare into the Grand Canyon, to ride a donkey to the bottom and camp between the rocks. One day perhaps but today I am not in Arizona, instead I find myself in the mid-West experiencing atypical summer weather.

One thing I like about America, when visiting it is good manners to act like an American, walk like an American and above all eat like an American: lots and lots of Mexican inspired food – La Piedad, The Tamale Place, La Parada, Tortas Guicho Dominguez y el, El Camino Real, Riviera Maya Bar & Grill, Puerto Vallarta, El Rodeo, La Hacienda Mexican, La Hacienda Mexican, El Jaripeo, El Meson, Adobo Grill, Margarita Grill, El Rodeo, El Sol de Tala Mexican, Tijuana Flats, Guadalajara Grill Mexican, El Meson, El Puerto de San Blas, Chile Verde Mexican, Casa Grande Mexican Grill, Cancun Mexican, Qdoba Mexican Grill, El Camino Real, El Jaripeo, Tequila Sunrise Mexican, Mi Pueblo, Los Toros, El Nopal, Lucero’s Mexican Restaurant, Little Mexico, Red Habanero, Carniceria Guanajuatoโ€Ž, Los Cotorros Mexican, Pancho’s Taqueria, Friaco’s Mexican Restaurant, Cancun Mexican, Revolucion, Las Chalupas Mexican, Abuelo’s, Fiesta Ranchera, Chipotle Mexican Grill to name a few…

I might be unrecognizable by the time I arrive home and a little confused; shouldn’t I be wearing a sombrero while eating my over-stuffed burrito instead of this cowboy hat?

While on this latest American adventure, I asked myself why I like coming to America. It partly has to do with being able to see my family, but it is more than that.

Is it the extra large portions? The overwhelming number of retail stores that stock everything you could possibly imagine? The specialized stores such as: The Anaesthesia Pain Clinic, the Animal Dermatologist, Hemrhoid Clinic? Or is it the Red Vines Licorice that tastes a little certs?

Whatever you could want, literally you can have and I haven’t yet deciphered why I have a crush on America, but I do.

On this trip I ended up in a giant baby warehouse and here is what I found:

A CD full of songs. Not just any songs. Songs that have your “Childs name in every song”! This is where my parents went wrong, if only I could have had my own Hip Hop CD shouting out my name every third word. I would have been a much more self-absorbed child and why isn’t Rihanna sayin’ my name too!

The sheer selection. I mean honestly which stroller would you buy? And can I try each of them out, maybe have a turn around the store? What you close at 10pm, but I have 8 more strollers to try.

Forget about ME checking out Arizona and the Grand Canyon, a book on the 500 places to take your kids before they grow up.

Lastly, and this IS my favourite, the DOUBLE breast pump.

The double breast pump isn’t just convenient for feeding your child, it also doubles as a way to increase work productivity.

Not only does productivity increase while having both breasts milked by a machine, it increases endorphin production. You know the natural opiates that make us extremely happy and smiling.

This is the medical establishment’s best kept secret to solving North American Women’s productivity issue’s and postpartum depression, the double-breast pump, I mean that’s what this packaging says, no?

What would make a new mom more happy than to have a suction cup attached to each of her breasts, squeezing out prime breast milk while she create’s a Sales presentation for the next day’s executive meeeting?!

I think I’ve just been convinced to have a child!

My Sexy, Hot, Romantic…

We have established I have an affinity for meeting interesting people and having … conversations.

Trust me, I do not seek it out.

Today’s conversation was actually handed to me, like a baton in a race. I wasn’t in some obscure place, no I was being part of regular society.

I am not sure how the conversation started before I was pushed into it, I just know I was being asked my opinion on colours.

“Do you think beige or green. I mean green is much friendlier.”

“Yes, I’d have to agree.”

“See I am not sure. I have this beige fabric with green vines. Its like green like leaf green.”

“Uh-huh, do you think all the shades of green would match.”

She turned sharply towards me, “God made green, it all matches.”.

Point taken – what a dumb question!! I should have known better.

“Well in that case, I concur you should definitely go with green”

We weren’t done however.

“It’s for my balcony,” and off she went describing her balcony. Her hand cut faux-grass. The cooking section. The eating section and the apres eating section.

“Sounds lovely.”

“Oh it is, its romantic. All my friends tell me that.”.

She pulls out her flip phone and searches through her camera’s photos. She finds the balcony and shows it to me.

“See, isn’t it gorgeous.”

“Oh yes, it looks fabulous,” all the while I can’t see a thing on the thumb print of a screen with the sun blaring down on us. Why oh why was I prolonging this conversation!

“Well you know what is really romantic.”. She pauses. “My living room. Its HOT. Its SEXY.” She is obviously out doing herself.

I want to jump in and help her with more descriptive words like Steamy, Erotic, Erogenous, Suggestive.

Instead I lean in close and flippantly insinuate to her that her romantic, HOT, SEXY room was surely seeing some action and not going to waste.

She chuckles and …

After a moment to catch my breath, I successfully remove my foot from my mouth and bid her adieu.

Get on the GO

Get on the GO

As you all know since leaving my job working in automotive, I have given up cars. I know, a real car nut and I’ve decided to go without. I’d like to say it was a slow process, this giving up a car situation but since I am not good with long agonizing goodbye’s, it was cold turkey.

Before making the decision I did have a few panic attacks about how I would get around in the heat, humidity, down pours, cold weather and snow.

So far I have successfully navigated the heat, humidity and wet weather. This is the summer that I hope goes on forever :).

In lieu of a vehicle I have become proficient with public transportation and have found that as long as I need only travel in the GTA, I am ok.

Its also pretty handy that I have not 1 but 3 transit’s to choose from in close proximity.

The Mississauga MiWay
GO transit

I am feeling pretty darn confident with my new found mobility.

For $3 I can be downtown in less than 45 minutes on the TTC or home for $4.60 in 25 minutes on the GO train.

This makes me pretty happy seeing as parking downtown starts at $15 never mind the hassle of finding said parking.

So when my double-first suggested meeting downtown for an afternoon post conference, I couldn’t have been more excited.

Yes we were going to be able to spend a few hours wandering around, going through memory lane. Yes we were sure to laugh so hard we could barely stand up. Yes we were going to feel as though we’d both lost touch with fashion.

But most of all I was going to have a real good try at my new transit wisdom.

I have each transit website book marked in my Blackberry (yes, I know BB is struggling but I would be lost without my full keyboard…as I am typing away…), making schedule checking a cinch.

I took the TTC downtown, we were meeting close to Bloor. It was an air-conditioned-less subway ride – ick, but otherwise uneventful.

We met up and made our way south, zig zagging through the streets of downtown. Past the Ryerson campus, a stop at the World’s largest bookstore, Urban Barn, just to solidify our lack of style and a Starbucks for good-old-times.

By 6pm it was time to say Goodbye ๐Ÿ˜ฆ and off my double-first was on the GO train north.
Now seeing as I was standing in the GO terminal, there was no reason to take the much longer TTC trip home. And who’s to say I’d get a subway car with air-conditioning.

I bought my GO pass and dashed up the stairs to the waiting train. This was working out sooo well!

As the doors closed behind me, I heard the announcer, “Welcome aboard the Express train, our first stop is Clarkson.”

CLARKSON!! That is 20 minutes out of my way!!


For a minute I entertained the notion of walking home from Clarkson but I quickly dismissed the idea. I’d get home for Midnight!

I consulted my GO schedule.

No problem, there was a regular scheduled train East bound towards Toronto 6 minutes after I disembarked.

You are wondering, did I buy a second ticket?


I decided ticket the police would see I bought my ticket at Union and that I didn’t take the express train past my stop just to see the Clarkson station.

But then again who’s to say for sure ๐Ÿ˜‰

To a grand day traipsing around TO, laughs, food, drink and a most complicated route home. ๐Ÿ™‚

A special thanks to “the second-best thing that happened to me” ๐Ÿ˜‰ and arranging for me an early leave from guarding the pillow wall

The Tree that escaped a most certain death

Over the last few days I have been doing my best to remember to snap a photo of the Tree that escaped a most certain death. The few times I did remember it was not a convenient time; simply meaning there were people sitting in front of the tree and it would be rude to ask them to move.

However there was one noteworthy time when I was actually scared away by an eyeball.

To be exact it was the right eyeball that had me skittering out of the coffee shop amid a burst of laughter – I tried, I promise, I tried to hide my smile and the tittering but I just couldn’t help myself.

You may be wondering how just one eyeball would frighten me so!

The one day the tree was not obstructed by people I cleverly arranged myself with the intention of snapping a photo when I noticed a customer was sitting facing me with a book up to his face. I glanced towards him to make sure I wasn’t disturbing his reading when I was introduced to the right eyeball.

Yes he had the book up in front of his face but what I saw upon closer inspection was that his right eyeball was peering out the side of the book, watching me. It can only be assumed that he was using the book as a ruse, a pretense in order not to be caught staring. I do not think I am that interesting of a person to warrant staring but I dare say as I crouched down and performed a mini Cirque-Du-Soleil manoeuver in an effort to capture not only a photograph but a masterpiece of a saved tree inside a light green bucket, I admit staring may have been his only option.

The eyeball frightened me and in the time it took me to unwind myself and set my spine straight, the humour of this situation overwhelmed me. As I tippy-toed past the eyeball with the book on my way out of the shop without a photograh, I could not suppress my grin.

I will do my best to describe the tree and the bucket since it is now just too embarrasing for me to attempt another photo session of the tree with it’s bucket.

Now before you get carried away thinking that it’s only the male gender that talk and stare at me while I am out and about, I’d like to share with you one of my favourite stories.

It is admittedly more eventful when women strike up conversation because there is usually a point to the exercise that doesn’t involve trying to get a number.

One fine day a few months ago while minding my own business I was jolted back to reality by a woman standing over me madly shouting and waving her arms, “Itโ€™s not getting enough water.”

The lady is pointing to the tree in the corner by the rest rooms.

I grunt at her like a man and she continues.

“It needs a pan underneath it. It needs to be pulling water up from the bottom through the roots.”

She stops chattering and looks over at me to see if I am listening. I can see her out of the corner of my eye. I do not want to get involved but she is doing her best to get me involved.

She rustles in her giant black pleather bag eventually retrieving, what I can only imagine is her trusty measuring tape. She precisely measures the depth and width of the bottom of the plant and jots down the dimensions in her little note pad.

It is a rainy day and my dear lady is dressed in an oversized rain coat, rubber boots, her hair is disheveled and she has a black and white zebra print umbrella as extra protection from the elements. She mentions something about the rainy weather and I miss hearing exactly what it is. Getting an unsatisfactory response, she turns on her heal and marches out of the shop.

Clearly on a mission.

Within 10 minutes she is back and in her hands a large light green plastic tub – it must be two and half feet deep and at least two feet wide. She shuffles over to the despairing tree and sets her bucket down to see if it is a suitable find.

I know where this is going. Today I do not want to be helpful. I want to stay sitting in my comfy chair.

“I’ve been looking for weeks for a pan that will fit the tree. I’ve bought four already that I’ve had to take back. The tree is so big and it is going to die if it doesn’t start feeding from the bottom – die.”

I am getting the point but she isn’t done yet. It doesn’t matter that this is not my tree and we are not in my establishment. It matters only that I am a customer, I am taking up space and this in itself demands my attention, my care!

“Look at the leaves, they need misting.”

I am no gardener. After my ex and I broke up all the plants in my house went to waste! He was the diligent one watering, caring for them each time he visited. He’d even visit my plants in my absence and I secretly believe he scheduled sleep over’s at my house to keep vigil on them! I know this because when I’d arrive home after days away there was that telltale sign; my bed was miraculously made and I know I left my comforter in the middle of my bed, in disarray.

Pointing out the leaves to me was doing no good. I am blind when it comes to plants and leaves.

“I’ll need to lift the tree up to get this deep bucket underneath”. She moves the chair that’s blocking the tree out of the way and starts uncomfortably shifting the tree.

The tree does look pretty heavy from where I sit and I make no attempt to interject in her endeavor of shifting the furniture around to make the tree more accessible. I know if I stand up she will willingly delegate the entire task to me. I know, I have met women before just like her.

I wonder if the owner knows what’s going on. I envision them happening upon me while I try to lift the tree into this new pot in order to satisfy the flapping woman. I can see me taking all the blame when the tree falls over because I can’t handle the weight. I don’t know why I’d try to do it on my own in the first place, but I know my nature and I would try. It’s really a most potentially fatal flaw!

I successfully ignore the woman and she leaves the pot, the tree and me in peace.

She is back in 5 minutes. She’s found the owner and a second man.

She has convinced them of her critical mission.

They lift the heavy tree and place it gently in the new light green tub.

Three months later the tree looks happy to me.

It is safe to say the tree narrowly avoided an imminent and catastrophic death and now has a light green tub to keep it warm and invigorated.

Peter the coffee shop prophet

It’s Saturday and the coffee patio is full with people. There is a couple, a man engrossed in his novel, a women who is serene with her long salt and pepper hair floating in the wind, the two knitting club women who are whispering (They understand that to have a private conversation in public, one must whisper, their whispering makes me smile), and rounding it out is the man with his bulldog.

The couple is sitting up against the wall chattering away about nothing in particular. She’s young and exuding excitement towards life. He’s slightly older, listening to her random chatter about a vegetable platter she is planning on taking with them to an afternoon barbeque. I am not sure if she’s really interested in the carrots, celery and plum tomato’s that they have left over in the fridge or if she just wants to make noise and be noticed. I can’t decide. She is being noticed, maybe not heard, but certainly noticed.

The sun is warm and it feels good on my shoulders. I am sitting at a table reading the news when two gentleman arrive – together but not together. The tall blonde suggests to the older man that he is willing to share his table. I notice that the seat the blonde is offering the older man is in the sun and without any warning I am blurt out,

“You are also welcome to share my table and sit in the shade if that is what you prefer.”

What am I thinking!! Both men turn to look at me in amusement? or sheer shock that I opened my mouth?

“Well thank you, I’d like very much to share your table.”

Oh boy. Well what can I do now? Leave? That’s silly. I’ll manage the situation that I created for myself.

“I must warn you that I might laugh every once in a while.” I know people find this uncomfortable, my random laughing at what I am reading, thinking or seeing and it is just easier to be upfront about this mild turrets-like syndrome. I’ve tried my best to be serious, to be sterner with myself while out in public, but it hasn’t worked so far.

“What do you mean by laughing.”

I don’t respond and go on reading my newspaper. We sit in silence and I ignore him.

He has a backpack and he likes riding his bike in the sunshine. So why is he sitting under the shade? Who knows, I’ll go out on a limb here but he probably wants to chit chat.

He notices the bulldog on the patio and turns around and strikes up a conversation with his owner, a distinguished older gentleman with shocking white hair.

“Winston? I was thinking that would be a good name for your dog.”

“Ya, he’s waiting for his mommy”

“I used to have a sheep dog, so much grooming. I had to put it down because she had hip dysplasia. I guess it’s pretty common in that lot of animals”

“Ya, I think its pretty common for all dogs now-a-days.”


He is getting his nerve up, striking up conversation with people around him and he turns to me,

“What’s your name?”

“Dawn” I lie. Well it is a thin lie. It’s half the truth so I can live with myself. I didn’t say something like Jane, Francine, Nicole or better yet Joan Jett!

“I am Peter”

“Good to meet you Peter.”

“I am one of the original disciples, a prophet, you know that? Just don’t ask my mother about it”

No I don’t plan to really get that friendly with you, friendly enough to meet your mother who I assume is likely in her 80’s.

I laugh but don’t look up, I haven’t decided yet if this man is crazy. I mean he looks well adjusted, he is reading a copy of the Globe and Mail, he wears sunglasses, he is appropriately clothed for the weather and he sports a watch with a black leather band with a gold rimmed face.

Peter the prophet does not have a lot of patience and eventually leaves out of disappointment at the lack of conversation.

I kindly wish him a nice afternoon to which he replied, “Yes and good day to you, and perhaps you’ll be more chatty this afternoon.”

Perhaps, perhaps not. I want to introduce him to the girl in the blue dress, she has lots of things to say and perhaps he’d have enjoyed her conversation about vegetable platters.


It has been awhile since my last post. I have written but not published and I am not sure why.

However I must share this.

I think it may be time for a car…

“Hey miss, miss”

I look across the street to a little old man waving madly at me.

“Miss, hello, that was me.” He pants excitedly, “That was me as you were walking right up the stairs.”. He can hardly catch his breath even though he just got out of his 4-door blue Honda Civic.

I ignore him.

“You were walking up the stairs,” he repeats.

I nod and glare at him. I was aware of the honk. If he had of looked closely my right leg had momentarily stopped mid-step when he honked his car horn. I had done my best to not show my surprise at the mad honking and kept walking up the stairs without turning around.

Now he was across the street out of his car talking a mile a minute with his European accent.

I continued walking as he yelled “Have a nice day miss.”

For sure I will…….

I heard him get in his car and drive slowly up behind me.

His window rolled down. I am thanking my lucky stars for my martial arts – at least I may stand a chance.

“Miss, miss, that was me honking as you walked up the stairs, it was MEEE!”

Yes I got it the first time as I forced a sneering smile – stop that car again buddy and you’ll be damn sorry.

He sees me dialing my friend as he drives away, yelling out his window.

“Miss I am not following you, I swear, I just honked at you. that was me honking.”

I get it – bugger off before I hurt you.

Time for a can of mace, a hand gun permit, a car or all three?