Life On The Lot

Jason had her number. He had everyone's number as soon as they walked onto his lot. The only reason anyone ever comes onto a used car lot is to find a great deal or what they believe is a great deal because they can't afford to drive anything else. The young guys can't afford insurance on their foreign status symbol dream cars and the recovering drunks and reprobates can't afford anything else. Young couples with kids and dogs in search of a second car they can rationalize as relatively safe yet can drive it into the ground for a few grand; new divorcees who walked away from it all rather than put up a fight. Jason's seen them all, sometimes within the same day. He's lucky. Ahmed and Karim are top notch mechanics. He lets them work on side projects in the service bay when nothing else is moving on the lot. Ahmed's cousin of a cousin's sister's brother or something has a line on old cabs, cop cars and delivery vehicles. They don't move many of them but when they're in demand, Jason becomes the go to guy in the east end. It's been 13 years since Roy collapsed at this desk from a massive cardiac infarction. Scared the crap out of Susan. She singlehandedly managed the whole joint with one arm tied behind her back blindfolded, chewing through 3 packs of Rolaids a day. Jason loved Susan like a mom. Always fantastisized she actually was, god knows she and Roy rode that crazy train enough. On, off, on, off. Like a light switch those two. Susan gave notice a week after Roy died, said she couldn't work with a ghost on her shoulder. Jason suddenly found himself owner, manager, chief cook and bottle washer. He glances up from the Sun, clocks the lady lingering over the Kelly green 2001 Jetta in the far right corner. Needs new struts and a head gasket, mileage is high and it leaks too much oil for his liking but what do you want for $3650? Jason straightens his tie and pops a tic tac in his mouth. Time to make a deal.

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