One Sunflower

Nemo vs.. The Sharks

slice of a teacher’s life

My car died two weeks ago. Since I hadn’t expected it to last through the school year, June was a bonus.  That car had been the first one I’d ever shopped for; I purposely bought a Saturn because I didn’t want to dicker about the price.

This time around I began on the internet, checked out Consumer Reports at the library and gathered advice from relatives.   Finally, I couldn’t put off going to a car lot to meet with  the “sharks” in white shirts and khaki’s that lurked beside the polished metal and chrome.

Lucky for me I found James.  He just happened to be the first guy who strode across the black asphalt full of balloon festooned cars.  I spent 2 hours with him, walking around the lot and driving cars.  I got to know quite a bit about James.  He was born and raised in Michigan, but I think he left to ski his way around the world, in and out of a few relationships, married, divorced, engaged, unengaged.  I decided he probably works to ski; he told me he can smell the snow coming, even what kind of snow it’s going to be, and he loves it.

James took notes on me too.  I didn’t see them but I can guess what he wrote down:

  • son in wheelchair, wants hatchback or wagon, not sedan
  • husband tall, needs head and leg room
  • daughter in Seattle, wants automatic to handle the hills
  • teacher – needs a cheap car
  • school is out in county, needs a car with low mileage, fuel efficient
  • not awed by a car’s bells and whistles
  • lived here awhile, went on roads in this town I’m not familiar with!

I was feeling pretty good that first day – James wasn’t pressuring me,  so I asked him for his card.  We entered the front offices of the show room and then the real sharks circled around. Three of them stepped towards me with tanned faces, flashy grins, and pressed white shirts.  “What kind of car can we find for you today, little lady?” I could tell right away that while James might be over 50, he was the new kid in this pool and these big boys were in charge.  I had to play by their rules for a while.  I let them question me but I was dodging like Nemo, and finally extricated myself from that foyer and back to the parking lot.  James walked me out and apologized,  “Sorry about that.  I’m old school – for me it’s about the relationship with the customer.”   BING – 2 points for you, James.

I purposely waited until James was back on the job two days later before I visited again.  I spent another two hours with him.  Because James is a new hire, we ended up having Shark Tom in on the end game.   I really wanted to konk Tom.  His idea of connecting with me was to talk about how much money he’s put aside in trusts for his daughters and how he counseled his youngest not to become a teacher – because the pay is lousy.

I know sales is a job but I’d rather have a salesman like James, someone who tells me how much he loves snow and rubs his back talking about how he hopes to stay active into old age.  I hope James is skiing when he’s 90, and I really hope my sale went to James and not Tom.

see more slice entries at Two Writing Teacher’s link



I have a little leather-bound pad of paper that I keep words in – I love words.  I love reading about their etymology and all the definitions.

I heard an interview with author Laura Hillenbrand and she used words full of sensory detail and not common in dialogue.  She was describing the stride of the horse, Zenyatta, as one that “just swallows the ground.” I love it!

Back to my little book.  I found this word a few years ago: Rubato. It is a musical term describing a kind of tempo in music: “characteristic of the Romantic period.  It is a style where the strict tempo is temporarily abandoned for a more emotional tone.”

Summer is in rubato time for me – but I sort of hope I can keep this kind of tempo in September too.

read more SOL stories at Two Writing Teachers link


Sea Joy

check out new entry on art page, #20

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