I am BARRY HESS > Blog

Wild Goose Chase

So I went out to shop for cars for the first time, really, in about 4 1/2 years. With a letter in my hand promising “outstanding trade in offers on a used Dodge Ram pickup 1997-2002,” I drove to Mankato with the wife and the kid to see what was what. The best part? This dealership offering outstanding offers was a Nissan and VW dealership. Since I wanted to look at Maximas and Jetta TDI’s, I was excited.

I wasn’t expecting any miracles. I had called a couple days ago and was told on the phone that the dealership didn’t stock many older vehicles, which I was looking for to save some $$$‘s in trade for luxury. The phone conversation left me fairly positive because I was told “we can work something out.” I envisioned agreeing on a trade in price assuming they could find a few cars for me to come over and check out at a later date.

Upon driving on the lot, we knew there wasn’t much hope for leaving in a new vehicle. Quite a few new, and by “new” I mean NEW, cars and not much else. We parked the truck and walked into the dealership. I realized things weren’t going to go great when it took five minutes for someone to approach me.

Finally, a salesman came to talk to me. He asked what we were looking for and I described our need for a more fuel economic car. He mentioned how difficult it was to find a diesel Jetta and basically slammed the door on me ever finding one at their dealership. When I asked him what the trade in offer for my truck was he said I’d just get the blue book trade in value. He also said I could look it up, which implied to me that I wasn’t worth his time. There was no desire on his part to go look at my truck two steps outside their front door. He took my name down for possible notification if something comes in, but I’m not holding my breath.

No big deal.

On the drive home, I got picked up. I was on a four-lane and was rolling at around 77 mph (clocked at 79 mph). The cop arrived at my window asking, “Any reason why you were speeding?”

I said, “Not particularly.”

The wife decided it was important to have some excuse even though in reality there really was none so she mentioned how we had a screaming baby. Of course, the kid wasn’t screaming once the new person with the new voice arrived at the window. The cop leaned over to look at the kid and said, “She looks pretty content to me.” Translation: “You’re a freakin’ liar.”

Anyway, as the cop sat in his car for longer than a warning, I realized that I was in a 65 mph zone rather than a 70 mph zone and figured I was pretty much deserving of a ticket. The cop returned, told me to slow down, and gave me a ticket for 10 mph over, which probably saved me some dough. I’m sure if I was aware of the speed limit and driving my typical 7 mph over I would have received a warning or at the best not even been picked up. I couldn’t really complain; at 27-years-old this is my first ticket.

As we were back on the road and approaching Janesville we ended up behind a car. A clean, red Jetta. ‘99. Turbo Diesel.