The old red Jeep has traveled almost 150,000 miles, and when you start it up, the engine sputters a bit before firing up and running, and then it’s much louder than it should be, as if saying, “Please turn me off now.” We always knew our son was coming, even before he turned onto our street.
I thought about taking it to my mechanic before running the ad in the paper, to see if he could quiet it down a bit, and also do something about the bright yellow “check engine” light that constantly stays lit. “That’s something any astute buyer will probably notice,” I thought. “Check Engine” translated is, “You’d have to be an idiot to take me home!”
Then there are the stains on the driveway from where it has been resting. “Probably not a good sign,” I thought. Something was definitely leaking. I just hoped it wasn’t something important.
There were some other little things. The radio usually cuts out when you hit a bump, but comes back on with another bump. The driver’s power window doesn’t work all the time. Slamming the door pretty hard will usually get it going, but you’ll probably lose the radio.
Then I thought, instead of fixing all these problems, I would just price it accordingly. After all, that was why I was selling it in the first place. Let someone else fix it. So, with the relief of that decision behind me I called the Democrat Classifieds.
My ad first ran last Friday morning, and before eight o’clock, I got a call. He told me he wanted to come and take a look, and I said great. He asked me if my price was negotiable, which usually means, “There’s no way I’m paying what you’re asking.” I said yes, it’s negotiable, and would discover by the end of the day just how negotiable it was.
He showed up at my house with a friendly grin and handshake, talking about the weather and the Razorbacks. “Surely a trick to get me to lower my price,” I thought.
He looked it over, inside and out, and I told him to go ahead and drive it. He got behind the wheel and started it up, and gave me a funny look when the NASA sounding engine took off. “It’s a little loud when you first start it up,” I yelled.
“What?” he yelled back. I slammed his door. Kind of hard in case he wanted to try the window later.
He backed out of the driveway and drove loudly down the street. “So far so good,” I thought to myself.
When he came back he turned off the engine and popped the hood. I took this as a good sign. He was still interested.
“It’s a little rougher than I expected,” he said while looking under the hood. “And the smell of gas is pretty strong.”
All I could come up with was, “How bout them Hogs?”
He checked under the hood and pointed out an oily spot on the block. “I’m not a mechanic,” he said.
Then what makes you think there’s something wrong? I thought.
He asked me if I would mind starting it up again. I got behind the wheel and turned the key.
Nothing. Dead. Not even a click. I tried it again and got the same result. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. He stepped around the open hood and looked at me. I tried giving him a grin while turning the key one more time. Neither was effective.
To be continued.