Outside my window, two Robins are running around the parking lot. The pavement, the cars, and the grass and trees are wet with rain from last night, but the sun is peaking through the clouds, and it doesn’t take a genius to know today will be bright and brilliant. And thank goodness — who likes doing anything in the effin’ rain?

**

I’ve been practicing my sales pitch on my co-workers. The new guy was an easy sell — he’s already mentioned he loves Wranglers, and he was going on about the four-door the other day. Plus, his parents are rich. The salespitch went something like this:

“Yeah, so I might get a job selling Jeeps at …”

“Dude! I so want a Jeep!”

“… er … awesome!”

It was a bit harder with Zebulon. Zebulon’s very goth, as in he wears a long coat and gloves to work, even in the summer, coupled with a large umbrella to keep himself out of the sun and therefore pale. What would someone who detests the sun want with a top-down doors-off Wrangler? (Particularly given his affection for VW Beetles?)

I pointed out to him that he could enjoy the top-down doors-off functionality of a Wrangler in the winter, when the sun wouldn’t be strong enough to tan his pale Vampire-like skin. Plus, as an added selling point, when it’s just before dawn, and you’ve absolutely positively gotta get to your casket in the middle of a cemetary surrounded by a marsh, a VW Beetle just ain’t going to get you there on time.

I also put a lot of added emphasis on the sex appeal that comes with, say, driving a Wrangler as opposed to a Beetle. Zebulon’s talking about going to college in the next few years, so I pretended to be a ditzy sorority chick talking about him in a Beetle, “Oh, that pale vampire guy? He might be kind of cute except he drives that wussy VW.” I followed that with the conversation she’d have if he drove a Wrangler, “Well, okay, he’s kind of pale … and his ponytail needs to be trimmed, but he drives a Wrangler … so I’ll bang him!”

For a last ditch effort, I resorted to basic emotion. “MY GRANDFATHER WENT TO WAR TO STOP HITLER, AND YOU WANT A HITLER MACHINE? YOU UNPATRIOTIC AMERICAN!” Of course, I failed to mention two things: one, Jeep is now owned by a German company, and two, my grandfather himself bought a Volkswagen after the war.

At this point, poor Zebulon, who was trying to get away from me so he could finish his inventory or count out the till or one of the few inside jobs requiring something resembling firing neurons, shooed me away and then paid me a nice compliment: “Y’know, if you can have me even considering a Wrangler, I think you’ll do fine.”