Barry D. Prez, Part Two

"They say I need to be seasoned; they say I need to be stewed. They say, 'We need to boil all the hope out of him -- like us -- and then he'll be ready.'"

Barack Obama Criticizing Hillary Clinton’s Experience Claims at a Campaign Rally 1/19/2008

Further Exploits of Salesman of the Year Barry D. Prez

One sunny morning in August, a flashy brochure was mailed to the middle-class home of Mr. John Q. Public that contained good news from Executive Sales, the only local auto dealer in town. John Q. was surprised to see that buying himself a new car might be possible after all, so he hotfooted it down to the fancy new dealership and peeked though the large transparent glass doors for a glimpse of Sales Manager Barry D. Prez. Nobody seemed to be inside the showroom and – as before, during his earlier visit – there were no autos on display. Taped on the front door was a sign with a large arrow pointing off to the right. As he stood and stared, crowd noise attracted his attention. Just down the block, John Q. spotted another auto dealer that he had never before noticed. Since Barry didn’t seem to be available, he strolled over to take a look at the competition.

What he found was a used car dealer named Barry & Gopper’s Tried and True Autos. Scattered around in a front parking lot full of used cars were several agitated people waving signs and shouting things like “Sellout” and “Weasel.” Like the other dealership, there seemed to be no salesman in the small office building at the back of the lot.

“What’s going on?” John Q. asked the nearest protestor.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” he snapped back. “I’m trying to find the guy who runs this place. He’s the same guy who ran the vacant dealership up the street. I came down here to buy a new car, and all I see here are a bunch of old clunkers. I made a down payment for a new car last November, and this is what he has for sale. My old car is nickel-and-diming me to death, and I expected something more for my money.”

John Q. was disappointed and relieved at the same time. On the one hand, he began to think that he had wasted his time coming down here again, but he was also happy that at least he hadn’t given Barry D. Prez any down payment money. Still, what difference did it make if he was going to be stuck with his own clunker that he could barely afford to keep on the road. Nothing he saw in the lot looked any better than the car he already owned, so he walked back to Executive Sales where his car was parked. As he approached the building, Barry D. peeked around the far corner and waved him over.

“Are they still mad?” he asked.

“They don’t seem very happy,” John Q. warned him. “ Why don’t you just call them over and sell them a new car, like your brochure says?”

“I’d like to, John Q., but there’s a small problem.” He led John Q. through a side door into the showroom. Hidden behind two office dividers sat a new car with the hood up. John Q. inspected the car, and burst out laughing.

“Barry, what is this contraption?” The car looked like it had at least five different paint jobs covering different body parts, it had no windows, and it was supported on bicycle wheels. Worst of all, there was no engine.

“I asked the manufacturer to send me a prototype last week, and this is what came on the trailer,” Barry complained. “When the first few prospective buyers came in to take a look, I couldn’t very well show them what I had. So naturally I said I didn’t have anything yet and blamed it on the manufacturer. Then they got mad and started throwing eggs at my front door. So I rented a vacant lot, bought some old cars at an auction, and set up my used car dealership down the street. Now everyone is still mad because the cars are clunkers, but it’s the most I can do right now.”

“Why don’t you complain to the manufacturer? Better yet, tell them what you want and make them build it?”

“If I did that, then the manufacturer will be mad at me. I didn’t get into this business to take grief from everyone. I’m doing the best I can. I just hope I can stay in business a few more years.”

When John Q. arrived back home, he sat down at his kitchen table and re-read the fancy sales brochure, then shook his head. “I guess I’d better get myself some good hiking shoes,” he mumbled.