Fred Aiken Writing

I first met Frankie while shopping for a new used Volkswagen. 

I had reached a dilemma with the car that I had at the time in which I no longer liked it. I hated it. I guess I wanted a change, and looked for that change in the form of a different used car.

Frankie was the used car salesperson.

I explained to her what I was looking for.

“That sounds like what you already have.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right. But I still need a change.”

“Maybe it’s not the car that you’re looking to change.”

It took me a moment to mull her implication over a bit. For one reason, I was and am an incredibly slow, dim-witted person. I truly am. But also because I suppose I’ve always been a bit squeamish when it comes to change.

It took me four years to work up the courage to go into a dealership to look at different cars, and even still I only looked at cars that were similar or almost the same as the car I had. A minor difference, like a small ding on the passenger’s side front panel bumper rather than the left would have been sufficient. 

Frankie seemed to be implying that I needed to leave my wife.

Frankie seemed to be implying that I needed to quit my job.

Frankie might have even been suggesting moving into the wilderness and writing some psychotic memoir, or Harry Potter fan fiction, or a manifesto about the plebians’ internal struggle with power structure only being resolved through violence. Lots and lots of violence.

Imagine me, a guy that’s never strayed so far as to even getting a parking ticket, an F on a paper or test, or ever even had his taxes audited, going out and upending my life because of something a used car salesperson said.

Maybe she was better than I thought.

I imagine no matter what sort of change I tried to go through I would need a different car. I imagine, at least.

After some thirty or forty minutes staring off into space at the sea of used cars strewn all across the lot, Frankie checked on me.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I think I’m ready to buy a used car.”

“Maybe we should start with why you’re looking for a different car and go from there?”

“I just like auto loans. I enjoy paying someone or some entity, like a bank or financial institution, back for having to borrow their money. I guess I’ve always sort of enjoyed the risk, you know. Borrowing money for a 2 ton death trap that statistically could kill me at any moment, but it’s being paid for using some sucker bank’s dime. And if I die, they’re done for. The loan will never get paid back.”

“I think they might just take the car back to recoup the cost.”

“They can’t do that.”

“Maybe we should just start you off with having an affair first and see where that takes you.”

And with that, Frankie and I went into the nearest used Volkswagen and started making out like sweaty teenagers discovering each others’ glands for the first time.