"I Will Buy You A New Car"

Me: I've never done this before
Art: What's that?
Me: Gotten a part for a car
Art: Ah
Me: And dressed slutty to get a discount

Rachael encouraged me to wear a low-cut top and lean over the counter for our trip to the salvage place. Our purpose was to find an interior panel for a Mazda Miata. I didn't actually end up with the low-cut top, but I DID stay in the outfit I had been wearing for an interview earlier today, so I was wearing a pair of (amazing) heels while trudging about shattered car remains.

Rachael and I pulled up, invented a parking space, and walked in hesitantly. I told the nice man what I (Art) wanted, and he told one of his lackeys to take us up to the Miata they had to look for the part. So Rachael and I walked out with a grubby, skinny, wife-beater-clad young man to his ancient truck, Rachael told me I got to "make a friend," and we climbed in the truck, with me sitting next to the nice young man.

We checked out the Miata, called Art, something wasn't right, he called me back, I called him back, and there was a large hole where there shouldn't have been. The nice young man needed to get back, so I got to "make a friend" again, and we got back to the shop, where the guy at the counter who was fully-clad (I really do think there is some correlation between amount of clothing and intelligence) informed us he had recently sold the exact part I (Art) needed, so I called Art again and tried three times to tell him what was going on, but the phone cut out right as I was getting to the crucial part those three times. I sent Rachael out to discuss while the fully-clad man and I bantered. He noticed Rachael's shoes, which were black platform sandals, and mentioned he'd like to have a pair. I promptly offered Rachael's shoes in exchange for the part we wanted, but he said he'd rather have them in neon green. I actually know a woman who has those shoes... eww. After the banter, I was called outside, Art finally made up his mind, and then changed it again. He did that a lot today. He then decided he wanted the, for lack of a better word, thing that is black plastic that goes over the gauges. Some wife-beatered young men were dispatched to get it, Art called back wanting an ashtray, the man behind the counter laughed and radioed it up, and general merriment prevailed. Until the young men radioed us back and told us those same parts likewise had been sold. I didn't feel like asking them for the travel package of Kleenex sitting under the driver's seat, so Rachael and I left, discouraged, and told Art the unhappy news.

On our way back, Rachael saw a car pulled onto the shoulder and asked if it were a Miata. It wasn't, but if it had been, our plan was to hit it from behind, grab the parts we needed, and split; or even better, to fold down the seats in the Suburban, grab the Miata (it only weighs 7 pounds), put it in back, and let Art have what he wanted out of it. But it wasn't a Miata, so the plans were foiled. Dang.