Another effort from my good mate Kev. Bit longer than normal, but it’s worth the read.

*****

Regular readers of my good friend Duncan’s blog may remember a guest appearance from me a while ago about turning the tables, and getting one up on the system. If you wish to read it I’m sure Duncan can point you in the right direction, but it involves me going into a bank asking about accounts to deposit a six figure inheritance, two weeks after being refused a small loan.

Their grovelling was of epic proportions.

Well, I’ve been at it again.

Now I have finally banked my non-existent cheque into my non-existent bank account, it’s time to buy myself a present, that won’t exist either, at least not on my drive.

I was merrily driving my slightly tired looking Vauxhall Astra down the road today, when I was rather rudely cut up by a Mercedes.

After my usual rant about posh car drivers owning the road, I happened to pass a Mercedes dealership, with all its poncey looking cars out front.

Within a couple of minutes, my tatty blue Astra, complete with 2 years worth of dirt, was neatly parked next to this sparkling black convertible. Be fair here- at least I parked it fully in a space and not between two, which is the norm for your average Merc driver.

So in I went, dressed in shorts, sleeveless t-shirt and my favourite cowboy hat, and looked at the disapproving stares as I poked my bugle through every open window in this pristine showroom while dabbing dirty great finger marks on the closed ones.

Salesman approached.

Conversation followed like this.

(Remember, the money doesn’t exist).

“Good morning, is there anything specific you are looking for Sir?”

“Not sure yet. The Missus is insisting I spend some of my inheritance on a new car. Personally, I would rather keep my Astra but she says we have to keep up with her mum and sister in their ponced up cars.”

“Would you be looking new or used sir, and may I ask your price range? Would you need finance?”

“I can go to around 40 grand cash. No finance. And new!”

“OK sir, may I offer you a coffee or would you like to look around now? I have all the time you need so please ask anything you need to know.”

“I want a white estate model, diesel, automatic, leather interior, with a towbar fitted. Nothing sporty, just practical for carrying a mobility scooter and disability aids.”

He eventually advised a C class, which means nothing to me. It just looked like an overpriced lump of metal.

But by strange coincidence, they had a demonstration model free outside, and as I had my licence with me, we took to the road for a test drive.

When we returned a while later, the salesman looked like he needed some hot sweet tea. I don’t know what was wrong with him. I only drove it like a Mercedes driver does, with the exception of actually using the indicators.

“Well, I’m impressed. Think I’ll give this some serious consideration. How long will it take to order one?”

“Come in sir and take a seat. I’ll be with you shortly”. Off he went looking a bit shakey.

The only downside to this little game is that I had to suffer ten minutes of a spotty kid car salesman waffling on about a subject I know nothing about.

Before pulling away I made sure my windscreen was clean, squirting plenty of water from the washer jets, ensuring enough blew all over the shiny convertible in the breeze. A quick sharp pullaway blew up a nice bit of dust, and the loud Metallica CD certainty lowered the tone of the pristine showroom.

Once again, it proved how easy it was to turn the tables. Just as I did in the bank, I proved that when it comes to money, if you can talk telephone numbers you get treated differently.

Again, I was called Sir. Not mate or pal or fella, but Sir. And the grovelling was a wonder. The fun factor was fantastic.

I actually enjoyed the prank so much I did the same thing in an Audi dealership on the way back home.

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