“…When LabRat and I went to purchase our current truck, we did what most antisocial nerds do and researched the bejesus out of every option available and every configuration, and based on MSRPs made a short list of what was within our range. My parents had recently purchased a vehicle from one particular dealership, and reported an excellent experience with one of their salesmen, so we packed up the checkbook and our pre-printed “we want it this way” sheet and set out. It was mid to late spring and pleasantly warm, so without jackets and in short sleeves we strode in, ready to buy a truck. Finding the salesman in question, pleasantries were exchanged, including the obligatory “we heard you were the one to talk to” bit. During this process, he took a look at our arms, adorned from shoulder to elbow on each of us with solid ink, promptly forgot our names (literally – he started calling me the equivalent of Stringbay) and handed us off to a junior sales associate who was shortly after very surprised when we replied to her inquiries about financing with “Can you take a check?” Sadly, when the dust settled he still wound up with half the commission. We did manage a small moral victory though a month or two later when we met the boss from the same dealership at our cigar club who was very interested in that story when he inquired how we liked the truck so far.”
RTWT and comments.
Neither Libby nor I have any tattoos, though we both have thought about it. But more than a few of our inner ring, the “dogfamily” do. Here are naturalist, herper, first- rate falconer, and houndman Nate, and his girl Nan, who owns a cutting- edge clothing store.
Nate and Libby
Nan and Kyran
(Yes, Kyran, prize father of two litters of tazis and one of lurchers, still thinks he is a puppy, hence his nickname of just that.)
Bodie, another falconer and dog man (and psychologist, and martial artist) who often comments here, has Edgar Allen Poe and Nietszche on his arms– no pix unfortunately!