Today my sister's car (formerly my car AKA The BUICK LESABRE! OR the single most important possession of my teenage years) got a flat tire. My dad went out to where she was, replaced the tire and began to drive home.
The spare tire went flat.
My dad, unfazed, walked the half mile back to our house and got me to drive him back to the car. He removed all the change from the ash tray and promptly sold the car to some mexicans standing fifty feet away from where the car's spare tire went flat.
The exchange went something like this:
(My dad walks over to the guys): Hey, my car broke down over here. Would it be okay if I left it overnight and picked it up in the morning. I'm probably gonna junk it.
The guys: You got a car? How much you want for it?
Dad: 300.
Guys: 150.
Dad: Sold.
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If that's not wheelin' and dealin', I don't know what is.
Wheelin'-Dealin' Dan.
I'll miss you Buick. You were a fine American automobile. That smelled of fresh laundry from the Yankee Candle Air Freshener.
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