6:08 am, June 4, 2023
Most people never forget their first day selling cars and I’m no exception.
What made my day more memorable, though, wasn’t the fact that whereas most salespeople claim that they managed to sell a car (I didn’t) or that while sitting in a queue for the McDonald’s drive-through in a Saab convertible they got their white shirt ruined by a gigantic seagull plop (as happened to another).
No, as a singleton at the time, it was a piece of advice bestowed on me by the sales manager that I still remember to this day.
‘See Gary over there? He’s been divorced,’ he said. ‘Nigel, divorced. Me, divorced twice.
‘If I were you, I’d set up a direct debit with the Child Support Agency so that when you finally meet someone, have kids and then inevitably get divorced, you won’t miss the money.’
It must have resonated with me, as for the next decade I threw myself into my career and had no meaningful romantic relationship of any consequence.
However, as I approached my mid-30s, I started to explore the – at the time – new world of internet dating.
I found the whole process inspirational from a creative perspective.
There was one problem though, and those familiar with the story of Cyrano de Bergerac will understand that the phenomenon isn’t confined to the internet age.
The more I wrote before the actual meeting, the bigger the divide between the perception of who I was and the reality.
This didn’t mean I was being deceitful, just that the idea of me was in most cases better than the actual me.
The best example of this was with a girl called Kate (not her real name, although I can’t actually remember her name so it could have been).
Kate and I had mailed back and forth frantically in the week leading up to our date.
Among the many diverse topics we discussed were what we had in our lunchboxes as children. My favourites were Viscounts and her favourites were Breakaways.
Being the thoughtful, romantic type that I am, I thought it’d be funny to bring some Viscounts along as a gift.
As I emerged from the car and our eyes locked across the municipal car park of the once-great seaside resort of Teignmouth, I could tell I wasn’t what she was hoping for; the sigh heard round the world if you will.
Not one to give up, I raced round to the back of my doom-blue Skoda Octavia with wheel trims* and revealed the Viscounts.
This was the worst power move ever played by a gaming character; like trying to beat the end-of-level boss with a Mini Milk.
We walked along the seafront and she said she needed to visit the toilet.
‘Don’t try and escape through the window,’ I called out, my withering comedic sensibility dying on the promenade.
Kate did come back, but only as her large backside wouldn’t fit through the window (honestly, I’m not still bitter about it at all) and we endured a painful half-hour while we made petty small talk over a flat lemonade.
She then looked up and said: ‘This isn’t working for me, I’m going to go’ – at which point Cupid picked up his arrows and realised he’d fired a stick of Breakaway instead.
I’m not sure what is more sad: my story, or the fact that some used car dealer photography made me reopen these old wounds.
Listen, dear dealers: halo lighting and Photoshopping images of your 100k Mercedes is only going to lead to disappointment, trust me…
*I picked up the woman who would later become my wife in a three-month-old Mercedes SL500, so lessons were learnt
This column appears in the latest edition of Car Dealer – issue 183 – along with news, views, reviews, interviews, features and much more. Read and download it for free here.
