It all started with my daughter Becca. A friend she had from college really needed a deal on a car because she was short on cash. Becca wanted me to meet up with her friend at my car lot and cut her a deal on one of our pre-owneds. I agreed. That was my first mistake in a string of many.
Tarah showed up in an Acura from the 90s I could hear coming from a mile away. I couldn’t tell if she was drunk, on prescription meds or just loopy when she got out of the car, almost fell over and greeted me with a hug. The hug was weird, but I didn’t mind. I hadn’t had physical contact with an unrelated woman in her 20s since I was in my 20s myself.
I set Tarah up with a piece of shit car for $500 down with the agreement that she would get me another $1,500 whenever she could. Based on her telling me that she worked part-time at some cider stand by the New Hampshire border, I figured I wouldn’t see that money in years, if ever. This was really just charity for Becca though. I gave Tarah my card, forced a smile, took in another awkward hug and waved goodbye when she drove away in the worst car on my lot.
Tarah called me that night. She started in with some BS about being confused by the title paperwork and how it related to insurance, but it only took her about 45 seconds to segway the conversation into questions about my personal life and “career” as a car dealership owner.
I’m not made of stone. I’m comprised of a weak male foundation which has been aged 54-years and is wrought with fading testosterone, insecurities, and a weakness for temptation. I felt like Tarah could see right through me as soon as she laid eyes on me at the car lot and decided to start rubbing herself up against my leg like a hungry housecat in the morning.