King of Egypt

”Hello!!” came the eager call of the young Middle-Eastern salesman making his way across a lot of used cars to an old man and his son hovering around a particularly sweet 2005 black four-door Honda Civic on a Sunday afternoon.

“What is YOUR name?” he asked, enthusiastically grabbing one of my dad's hands with both of his and shaking vigorously. “Oh...I'm...well you should talk to HIM,” said my dad, nodding to me, “He's buying a car.” “And who are you?” repeated the salesman. “Well, I'm [MCF], and he's [MCF] too.”

“Oh! you are father and son? YOU are [MCF] and HE is [MCF] as well! Splendid!” He shook my hand now. “I am FAROUK!” he said, “You know, like the King of Egypt?” I nodded with a bit more certainty than my father. Farouk turned back to my dad and said, “That's ME! No, I kid. I'm not king yet....well...maybe SOMEday!”

It was a rap, but at least it was a good rap. I'm sure page one of the car salesman's manual says to come out strong and friendly with jokes, after the customers have milled around for a few minutes and looked at things on their own. It was precisely what I was expecting, and something I hadn't encountered at any of the other dealerships I'd visited. In most cases we either didn't see anyone at all, or had to seek them out. One guy was very disinterested and seemed like he wanted to get back to his coffee and newspaper. He actually gave me a card and said I should just browse their website. We didn't go back to that place.

We'd been to Farouk's place of employment a week earlier, and I'd seen a couple of cars that I liked, with prices I liked. We didn't stay long enough to talk to anyone, but I knew I'd be coming back. Farouk showed us a couple of different vehicles, but I knew that little black car was the one I wanted. Unfortunately, he couldn't find the keys for it. I sensed a bait and switch as he opened up a 2004 non-LX version of the same car that was selling for the same price for some reason. I climbed in, turned the key, and nothing happened. “I will get it start for you!” said Farouk, his smile holding as a single bead of sweat glimmered into existence upon his forehead. As he raced back to the building, I noticed a crack across the dashboard display. There was no way I'd be convinced to purchase that car, though that may have been the tactic.

When he got back with a charger, my dad told him not to waste his time. Farouk rifled through the case of keys again, and found the ones for the car I wanted to see. I hopped in, and started right up, purring. I checked the air conditioning first, one of the most prominent things that didn't work in my current car. The radio, the heater, the lights, locks, and windows all worked as well. Its gray interior seemed larger than my car's, though it's roughly the same size vehicle. With only 33,000 miles, and a bumper-to-bumper warrantee, the certified pre-owned car was tempting.

“I move cars and you will drive!” beamed Farouk, fishing for the keys to the two other vehicles blocking the way. He hit another roadblock when he discovered one of the cars had a stick shift, which he didn't know how to drive. “I find someone...” he began, but my old man was already taking the keys from him and climbing in to move it. “Hahaha! Your father is HELPFUL!” laughed Farouk, preaching to the choir.

“Get in the front, Mister [MCF]!” he said to my dad when the path was clear. As Farouk jumped in the back, I peeled out of the lot for a test drive. My dad was concerned that engine was smaller than my current cars, 1.7 vs. 2.2. But a 1.7 on a 2005 vehicle had more kick than a 2.2 on a 1989 vehicle, and the car moved when I stepped on the gas. “Is nice, yes?” Yes it was, Farouk.

“Okay, take your hands off the wheel,” advised my dad as we got to a straight patch of road. In the rearview mirror, I thought I saw the return of that bead of sweat. But the wheel alignment was good, and the car didn't pull to the left or the right. “This thing handles bumps better than my car,” noted my dad with the slightest tinge of regret. My mom still criticizes him for buying his 2004 Impala without test driving it first. My mom waits to do things, often too long, while my dad is the opposite extreme. If he needs something, he'll go get it. With his car totaled, he needed a new one and bought one right away. My mom has taken a year or longer whenever she's needed a new car; my dad's done it within a week. As for me, it looked like I was going to accomplish my goal after three weeks of searching.

Back at the dealership, it was time to get serious. Farouk pulled the Carfax report. If there was ever any serious damage, there was no record of it. The car had a few minor scratches on the hood, and a little scuffing on the rear bumper, but was otherwise shiny and pristine. We checked the trunk, and Farouk pulled back the carpet to show us there was no water damage. Everything under the hood looked good to my dad as well.

The book value on my '89 Mazda 626 ranged from $700 to $1800, depending on the condition. Considering that it's been in two accidents while in my possession, has rusting brake lines that are going to fail any day, and takes a few tries before it actually starts, I probably would have sold it privately for $500. Farouk offered me $300 for the trade-in, less than I would have liked. On the other hand, not having to deal with selling the car on my own was appealing. But the wrinkle arose when it came time to talk to the finance guy.

My dad and I share the same name, as Farouk learned to his glee. As far as our driver's licenses go, his lists his first name and last name, while mine includes a middle initial and a “Jr.” The DMV screwed up years ago when I bought my car, and though my license and application said one thing, the name printed on the title matched the name on my dad's license. I'd discovered this about six years ago, when I got a form from them that listed his birthdate. I called them to correct it, and they said it was more than changing a date and insisted that HE was the owner of the car. If he wanted, he could come down and transfer ownership to me. Faced with waiting in line for my dad to give me my car that I'd bought with my own money or letting it go for a few years, we chose the latter.

Trading the car in wasn't a problem; transferring plates was. In order for me to get a title and plates in my name, we had two options according to the finance guy. One made sense, and the other didn't. We could either go to the DMV, wait on line, and go through the transfer process we'd skipped years ago. Or, I could start fresh with new plates, they'd give my dad the old ones, and he'd simply have to go to the DMV to surrender them, at his leisure, on a much shorter line. A fresh start all the way around seemed the way to go.

So, soon I'll be driving a 2005 car with new plates, a rare fresh start and the fulfillment of one of my 2005 New Year's Resolutions. It's fitting that I bought a car from that year. It's not that I don't do things, it's just that I take a little longer than everyone else. I guess I get that from my mom. Tuesday night after work I'll be giving them a bank check for the balance of my down payment, and they'll be giving me a detailed, freshly inspected car with a full tank of gas as well as taking my old one off my hands. It's all very surreal to think that I'll be in a different car by the middle of this week, and that the King of Egypt is partly responsible. Nice work, Farouk!