It could have been Cuban…

The smell in the small room was not unpleasant because my dad smoked cigars on that rare occasion when someone would give him one for a child's birth or another celebration of some sort. I actually sort of liked the heavy odor and wondered what it would be like to smoke a stogie. Maybe sometime soon.

I can remember my dad in other bizarre ways too. The smell of bourbon and a dry-cleaned suit mixed together is something that reminds me of him. You probably think that's bad. Not so, my dad never abused any spirits, a cocktail was just part of the family routine before dinner was served. Funny how things cling to your brain after so many years.

The man behind the desk was a lot older than the salesman. Of course everybody looked older to me (they mostly were). You know sometimes I wish I had asked some of my teachers to tell me how old they were. I wonder now and there's no way to find out. Others have shared this dilemma with me and it is one of those mysteries that follows one around for life. I think I'm about forty-something in the blog picture, in case someone wonders. Anyway, hands were shook all around (even me) and we sat down. The man began to talk with Pop about the great new line-up of cars and how the costs had skyrocketed since so much improvement had been made. My father listened intently. I felt he should have been taking notes to help figure out what his new offer should be. How could anyone afford such technological superiority? After all of that, Dad said , "Here's the check for the car. It's all I have. Do you want to sell it?"

The sales manager read the check carefully and set it face down on the desk. "I can see that you're a man who knows his cars, Mr. Wilson. The only problem with this offer is that it is way below anything we could possibly take. It doesn't even cover our landing costs."

"Well it's the car I want, it's in the building, and that's what I'll give you"

"We can't do business, I'm sorry."

"OK, let's go Butch." That was the second time I had heard that. He continued, "That salesman said that this guy had the authority to sell the car."

"Now look, I've got to pay for the car and this building and commissions and service and delivery charges and there's no end to my expense. Surely, as a business man yourself, you can understand."

"I do, and I'm sorry. I also understand that you can cut your continuing losses on this car by getting rid of it. Out of inventory, off the insurance, get the spiffs from FMC, order another one. What do you want for it, anyway?"

The sales manager gave some price (I haven't any idea what he said), and my dad said, "You're kidding, I could get a Cadillac for a little more than that. Look, I'll add fifty bucks to this check, you can give it as commission to that young man out there, we'll take the car off your hands and you can rack up a sale. But that's as far as I can go. Really!"

"Why don't you and David wait here just a moment and I'll see if the general manager is in his office."

Twenty minutes went by. We were looking at all of the brochures and stuff that they had given us. They even brought in a couple of small Cokes and seemed very courteous. The man came back with another even older man in tow and hands were shook all around again. We all sat down and the oldest man began to use the crank adding machine. He had an official looking paper in his hand and he would carefully push certain keys, crank, push keys, crank, push, crank. The paper coming off the top was about six inches long. He must have found enough profit somewhere inside the machine because he turned to my Dad and said, "I think we're a lot closer than it seems. If you can afford just two hundred dollars more, you can drive her home".

Dad simply got up and we walked out the open door.