Car Salespeople Live on Planet Saturn

There are only two kinds of people in the world: car salesmen and everyone else.
My wife’s car has spent the last two months suffering through some undiagnoseable problem that four different mechanics haven’t been able to figure out. Probably, there’s nothing wrong with it at all, it just doesn’t like us and now refuses to run on our command.
Anyway, tired of the constant sputtering of the car and adrenaline flow as we put our lives in God’s hands every time we take it on the highway, Liz and I finally broke down and went car shopping last weekend.

Little did I remember that we were walking into a different dimension.
Car salespeople are not like the rest of us. I’m convinced that everyone who spends any time in the industry eventually goes nuts.
In an hour and half of dealing with these folks Friday night, we met one guy who drives around with a giant dog decal on his vehicle to signify that he is the “Car Dog,” a guy who accents his handshakes with a cheesy wink straight out of the Handbook of How to be Sleazy, and a 65-year-old slightly senile bald man whose business card identified him as “Handsome” Mr. Ransom.
In the real world, coming up with the cheesiest possible professional nickname is not considered a career achievement. Would you buy your meat from the butcher shop of Jimmy “the Cow Monger” Stevens? Would you want “Litigious Larry Long” representing you in court?
Me neither.
Why do car salespeople think these horrible nicknames gives them credibility?
People in the car industry not only have funny names. They operate in a different social reality than every other person on earth.
If I were to meet a perspective new friend for coffee, and I refused to let him leave despite the fact that we were done with our drinks and he had already told me he had somewhere else to be, that would be a recipe for ensuring that person would never want to see me again in my life. And if I then closed our coffee meeting by asking that person what it would take for us to make a long-term commitment to each other, the person wouldn’t be able to run out of the coffee shop fast enough.

But car salespeople somehow think this routine is foolproof.
Maybe this is why the automobile industry is in so much trouble.
I’m not a car person. But the one time every seven or eight years that we go car shopping, I usually get excited about the process of seeing how different cars drive and ultimately upgrading our future experience. As a lawyer, I actually even enjoy the negotiating process.
And then we go to a car dealership and I remember why I want the process to end as soon as possible.

If I were...

If I were a responsible author, I would blog tonight, because I promised you a new post by Wednesday of every week, even though I'm exhuasted right now; 

If I were a responsible worker, I would have spent all this week meeting deadlines three weeks in advance, even though I don't have anything pressing for the next few days;

If I were a responsible husband, I would have made my wife's lunch for tomorrow since she leaves for work earlier than I do, even though I did it yesterday;

If I were a responsible friend, I would have called my out-of-town buddy that I hope to see this weekend and lined up a plan, even though I'm not entirely sure of my schedule yet;

If I were a responsible pet owner, I would have scooped the cats' litter before coming up for bed, even though I really don't feel like it;

If I were a responsible sports writer, I would have found something new to write about this week for my website, Bleacher Report, even though its July and nothing is happening in the sports world right now;

If I were a responsible son I would have called to see how my parents are doing tonight, even though they already sent me an email;

If I were a responsible citizen, I would have already cast my ballot in Nashville's city elections and called my Senators to demand they raise the debt ceiling already, even though I know intellectually that one voice doesn't really matter;

If I were a responsible consumer, I would have already paid that bill sitting in front of me that's due in four days, even though there's still barely time to get it mail before it's late;

If I were a responsible Christian, I would have found someone who needed extra love today and gone out of my way to provide it, even though no such person magically appeared in front of me;

If I were a responsible homeowner, I would have saved money on our electric bill by insulating the attic, even though I hate that kind of thing;

If I were a responsible neighbor, I would have cut the grass about a week ago, even though it's 100 degrees outside.

But I didn't actually do any of these things today. 

Truth is, I'll probably only pick the two or three most important ones on the list to attempt tomorrow. And the next day too.

They all sound good in theory, but "in theory" is a terrible place to live.

If I were a responsible person, that lack of productivity would really bother me. 

Good thing I have this blog instead.

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

You broke the bonds and you
Loosed the chains
Carried the cross of my shame, of my shame
You know I believe it.

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

The lyrics of my favorite U2 song argue that mere intellectual belief in God doesn't, by itself, doesn't satisfy the deep longings of the human spirit.  I think that's true. 

But I also wonder what exactly Bono was looking for, why he hasn't found it, and whether I'm looking for the same thing.

U2 played here in Nashville last week, so I finally got to hear all their classic hits, including the song from which this post takes its title.  In a way, the timing was entirely appropriate, because for as long as I can remember, I've gotten singularly depressed in July, thinking there's something else out there that I haven't found either. 

I used to hear from some of my Christian friends that my annual summer troubles came because I wasn't strong enough in my faith. If only I believed more, I would hear in the fundamentalist circles in which I used to run, I would have this immutable smile plastered on my face at all times.  

Like my fellow believer Bono, I don't think that's how the Christian faith actually works.  My friends meant well of course, but they just didn't get it.  I believe with all my soul in Him, but that doesn't meant I'm not still missing something in me.

I think we're meant to be on a journey somewhere for the duration of our lives, but I often stop at a Holiday Inn along the way and decide I don't want to leave.  The continental breakfast is nice, after all.

Anyway, I don't know why, but somehow July's endless repetition of long, sweaty days, with no relief in sight, make me feel like I'm just going through life's motions.

U2 has a song with lyrics that read, "nothing changes on New Year's Day," but the truth is that nothing changes in July either. The heat stays, the days are long and indistinguishable, as one inexorably bleeds into the next. For a sports fan like me, there is no football, basketball or hockey, and the endless repetition of nightly baseball games only adds to the feeling of living in a real life version of "Groundhog Day."

I'm sure the oppressive heat doesn't help.  Sometimes I can feel it literally sucking the life out of me.  Today, for example, the heat index was 114.  It's hard to find motivation to leave the metaphorical hotel when on the verge of melting. 

But there is something more to it than that.

Humans are wired with a need for change.  We have a constant need in this life to look forward to the next big thing, a need to feel a thrill of excitement as we get out of bed and think about what's in store for us each day.

This is hard for me.  I hate change.  I fight against it kicking and screaming, even if I know life gets stale without it.  If variety is the spice of life, I usually just choose to order something bland. 

I like to go to the same five restaurants and have one favorite dish at each place.  I like visiting friends and family at a familiar house and having a familiar room in which to stay.  On weekends, my wife and I go to one the same six places on a rotating basis, probably with one of the same four couples that we count as our close local friends.

You might have noticed that we don't have kids.  That kind of change would be terrifying. 

A big part of me likes life this way.  There are no unpleasant surprises, at least.
I really like to comfortable.  Newness is scary.  Sitting on the couch and watching baseball isn't. 

And that's exactly the problem.

I have a hard time putting myself in situations where I might be rejected or feel uncomfortable.  And because of that, my life sometimes doesn't feel as abundant or meaningful as it feels like it should.  I never trip while standing still, but I also never get anywhere.

I think that's my problem with July.  The endless string of identical, long, hot days reinforces a bit too much the monotonous safety of the daily life into which I'm prone to falling.

But not this year.

This July, my life will not be boring.  I will see what life looks like outside of my comfort zone.  I will search for fulfillment outside my living room, rather than waiting for it to land on my coffee table.

I will invite over that couple we like who seems a little too cool to hang out with us. 

I will play cards with guys I don't really know, even if I might feel awkward at first for not knowing the inside jokes or the rules of every game. 

I will go to lectures that sound interesting, even if the lazy part of my brain tells me I'd rather sit home and watch mindless tv. 

I already applied for that real writing job, even if I'm terrified of it. 

I will do something I don't feel like doing, because deep down I know it's the right thing to do. 

I will choose to live life when I'd rather choose to just be comfortable.

Because if I don't, then I'll never find what I'm looking for.