The Steel Albatross

I’ve done a lot of different jobs in my relatively short life. The one thing I’ll never be is a salesman, or salesperson, if you prefer. One could look back on my life and think that the reasoning behind this assumption is my father’s influence. Dad lumps salespeople in with lawyers and third-world dictators. He has a genuine dislike of what he perceives to be dishonest professions. Frankly, a great many folks seem to agree with his logic.

Before you light the torches and gather the pitchforks, understand that this writer does not necessarily feel that way, at least not today (the winds of change do blow fickle). I understand that you’re just trying to feed your families like everyone else. In fact, I am whole-heartedly jealous of your skills!

The reality is this: I suck at selling things. I’ve been trying to sell my Steel Albatross (a.k.a. 1972 Chevelle) for over four months, without one serious offer. I’ve tried websites, auctions, and subliminal persuasion, but nothing seems to work. Who wouldn’t want a fast, classic, and expensive muscle car? I believe the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia’s EPA even gives it a fuel inefficiency endorsement!

Don’t get me wrong, I love the car, but it is a constant talisman of my own stupidity. It’s a shining monument to poor decision making and American excess. More to come.