I’ve made two significant purchases for this household. First, the Magic Bullet. I’m tired of watching Ina Garten or Paula Deen whip out blenders and food processors. I’m tired of saying, “Freaking-a! I don’t have that! I’m out!” But now I can join those Food Networkers with this sleek, fat phallic shaped appliance that has seduced me with its ultimate party machine potential.
One thing I didn’t know is that this sucker is LOUD. I tried to make a smoothie like they did in the infomercial and thought, “Geez, how did Mimi and Mick talk to each other?” Hah! I bet you didn’t know their names! I bet you haven’t watched this hour-long informercial three-thousand times! And if you have, (which would make me less of a weirdo…Thanks, friend, we should go bowling) you’ve probably also picked up on how unrealistic the party is. I mean, no one’s actually eating the two different types of muffins, the five-second quesadilla or that omelet. And that cigarette ‘ol grams is smoking is just a prop! No smoke is wafting toward the ceiling. And how do they actually know each other? My guess is A.A.
The second purchase: a deep freezer. Back home we had a freezer filled with cases of chicken and beef and the occasional neighborhood kid we dared to hide in the damn thing.
I’ve also grown tired of passing up frozen food sales because our freezer is small. It can barely fit Nathan in it. Believe me, I’ve tried. Mike and I journeyed to the big electronics store. It was easy enough at first. We chose a 5 cubic-foot unit model. The cashier asked if we needed help, we nodded energetically. But when a salesguy wheeled the boxed behemoth out to our car, Mike and I looked at each other and asked the obvious, “Will it fit in the trunk?”
It didn’t. We were stupid to think that physics didn’t apply to Mike’s 2003 Nissan Altima because we willed it so. It didn’t fit when the five white-shirt salesguys removed it from the box and tried to pry the backdoor far enough to slide it in. No dice.
Just as my deep freezer dream was about to be ruined, one salesdude perked up, “I can drive it to your place. I have a truck!”
“Are you sure?” Mike asked, blinking rapidly. I was too stunned to speak. So were the other sales posse.
“Of course I’m sure!” He added. “It’s a truck!”
He ran inside to check with his manager. The salesguys started talking, oblivious that Mike and I were still there.
“Dude, that is one friendly guy…”
“Man, this is the second time he’s done this!”
“Yeah I guess he really wants people to drive his truck.”
Mike and I didn’t look psycho enough because when happy salesguy returned, he handed Mike his keys. “My manager says I can’t leave. Here, just return it okay?”
While Mike was bringing the ghetto truck around, I bore witness to this: one of the salesguys turned to another salesguy, pointed at an 18-wheeler in a distant parking lot and said in a solemn tone, “I bet you can’t run up to that truck, punch the guy inside and run back without getting hurt.”
“I bet I can,” the other guy replied.
That’s the only thing I miss about customer service. Silly co-worker exchanges. When I worked front desk at a gym, one of the personal trainers and I wore matching black Adidas jackets so we could be breakdancing twins. We were going to take that act on the road. My pop and lock was phenomenal.
Mike handed his keys over as collateral. Before we could yell “JOYRIDE!” we realized why happy salesguy was so willing to lend his truck to complete strangers. It looked like it had been purchased from McShitty Motors. It was a stick-shift with three years of dust on it. The dirt was so thick, you could carve into it and show it sideways as a project detailing the layers of the earth’s crust. The plastic panel below the steering wheel fell off during the drive. I had to hold it up so Mike could shift gears.
Not shown: the rear view mirror, right side mirror, knob on the hand crank for the right side window and passenger side headrest. Why did I fail to capture these automobile essentials? They weren’t there! It was like salesdude thought about fixing the spiderweb cracks in the windshield but decided to wait for his Pimp My Ride audition. Salesdude also advised us not to rev up the engine over 60 MPH. It was like Speed but in reverse. We were driving DEEPS! No wonder he had given us his keys so easily. Instead of liability insurance, he had little Buddha on the dash.
But we had to thank the guy for letting us use his truck. We didn’t have to shell out fifty bucks for delivery. We had a freezer! When we returned the truck, the salesguy even apologized for its dilapidated state and explained that his dad uses it for business (What could that be? Hauling sides of beef? Helping strangers schlep heavy home appliances because they’re too stupid to bring a measuring tape?). He didn’t even want to take the $40 tip. He gave me a comment card and said that would help him more.
He should have handed me a deposit slip because what I wrote was so good he would have put it in the bank. Oh snap!