It’s Wednesday, which means everyone is going to share a nugget of wisdom and reenact the Geico commercial where the camel asks everyone what day it is.
That’s making a comeback for some reason. My guess is human stupidity’s attraction to things that are dumb. That’s why Imagine Dragons is popular. I have Imagine Dragons on two Spotify playlists, so don’t think my ID slam was me putting myself above all of you idiots. I’m just as dumb as you.
THUNDER! FEEL THE THUNDER! *BANGS DESK THREE TIMES* LIGHT-NING AND DA THUNDER!
I love me some me
Photoshoot people are my new favorite thing.
Happiness is a choice, alright. That’s what this guy chose when he posed for these pictures. Despite all odds!
Whenever I see these posts, I always think of this:
Material things are better
People mistake common decency for some sort of superpower that needs to be praised at every turn. Which allows “entrepreneurs” (unemployed) and “influencers” (YouTuber/Model/fictional festival promoters) the opportunity to appear intelligent.
Take a look at these lists. What the hell is unselfish generosity? If that exists, that means selfish generosity also exists. I have no idea why he pushed two synonyms together to list a new trait, other than the fact that he’s a dunderhead.
No one is more impressed with someone’s ability to dream than someone’s ability to make money. It also takes zero courage to dream. Having the courage to dare is not a thing because that’s not even a complete thought. The courage to dare what? I dare you to get hooked on phonics, Vala!
Cars 2 sucked
The best wisdom is no wisdom at all.
A luxury car is to an “entrepreneur” what an Instagram post is to someone who works out — a flex veiled as inspiration. I call them like I see them because I am one of them ( Watch me quarter squat on a Bosu ball, IG: @timgodfrey__).
Thanks to the magic of car rentals and leases, everyone can get a luxury car and claim they got it as a result of their business savvy, hard work and wise stock investments. Ignore the fact my Lambo is in a dirty garage and all of my stock is in Blockbuster. I am an entrepreneur who can curl 40 pounds (once again, IG: @timgodfrey__).
I’m not one for politics but Sen. Dianne Feinstein has my vote for the rest of my life.
My newfound allegiance is based solely on the fact that she dunked on a group of kids.
“We’re asking her to vote yes on the Green New Deal,” said a bunch of annoying kids who had the audacity to call out an elected official.
The first few seconds of this video made me ill. There’s nothing worse than kids who have hope and ambition. Look at their little sign. Look at that massive letter. Are you serious, children? You claim to care about the environment but then slaughtered 10 trees for nothing.
Feinstein should have ripped up the glitter-covered letter while she told these punks how life really works.
So, not only did they annoy the hell out of Feinstein, but every employee at Kinko’s.
“We’re asking you to vote yes on the Green New Deal,” said young boy in Feinstein’s office.
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Feinstein replied.
Buckle your seatbelts, dummies, because Feinstein is about to tell you to go to hell.
The original video doesn’t do Feinstein justice. Watch my edit below
Feinstein is a tough ol’ bird. She defied decades of sexism, D.C. politics and grey hair despite being 85 years old. Do you think she would hesitate to put a group of nonvoters in their place?
Instead of just patronizing the children and pretending to care, Feinstein spells it out for these high-pitched dopes.
“I’ve been doing this for 30 years. I know what I’m doing.”
HELL YEAH! GO OFF, QUEEN!
“You come in here and you say it has to be my way or the highway. I don’t respond to that.”
Feinstein should have ripped up the glitter-covered letter while she told these punks how life really works.
“I’ve gotten elected. I just ran. I was elected by almost a million vote plurality.”
A plurality vote means she got the most votes but not the majority, something those pint-sized hippies didn’t understand, I bet.
Then some 16-year-old know-it-all made the egregious claim that Feinstein had to listen to the public because that’s part of her job. Feinstein didn’t flinch.
“How old are you?”
“I’m 16. I can’t vo—
“Well, you didn’t vote for me.”
BOOM! Take a seat on the bench little girl because you just got dunked on.
Of course, the video made it to Twitter where a bunch of people freaked out because Feinstein got real with kids and let them know their opinions are stupid.
What really won me over is that Feinstein didn’t apologize.
“I want the children from Sunrise Movement to know they were heard loud and clear,” she wrote on Twitter.
As previously stated in my previous story, I was a terrible car salesman.
I had no clue what I was doing. In hindsight, I probably should have listened to all the advice countless co-workers gave me. Now that I think about it, those sales workshops might have been helpful, too.
But I wasn’t passionate about selling cars, so I didn’t really care to learn how to do the job. Those bits of advice and classes would have made me better at my job, but that job was selling a minivan to a woman who calls me Jim for two hours or a brand-new, luxury truck to a guy whose price range is in the “$13,000 ballpark.”
This week, we talk about my salesmanship and my worst sale. First, let me explain my selling method.
As a salesman, I was basically a scarecrow in a shirt and tie. Two kids standing on top of one another in a trench coat could have done a better job at selling cars.
I didn’t know anything about the cars I was supposed to be selling. I didn’t know what the rebates were. If we didn’t paint the prices on the windshield, I would have been screwed.
“Do you know anything,” a customer jokingly asked on a test drive one time. His wife bumped his arm with her elbow and they both chuckled. I nervously laughed with them in a cold sweat, as I had nearly given him a serious answer of “no.”
But I did make sales and for that to happen, two things needed to occur.
First, my cousin/manager Mike needed to give me step-by-step directions on what to do from start-to-finish. Nearly all of his directions were given with his eyes closed and his index finger and thumb pressed against the bridge of his nose.
Second, I needed my customers to be 99 percent sold on the vehicle by the time they came in.
Most of my customers sold themselves. I was just along for the ride. I would throw in a basic fact now and again, like, “Yes, seatbelts come standard,” or “Today is Monday.” But most of the time I sat in silence, which was my best sales tactic.
Here is a basic idea of what me selling a car was like:
It’s me and a couple — usually in their late-40’s-to-early-50’s — standing outside in the parking lot. They’re interested in a new truck. We just finished the test drive. They know everything about the truck and they know how they’re going to finance the vehicle. All they need to decide is what color they want.
“I’m torn between black and navy blue,” the husband says to his wife, and maybe me but I was never really sure.
“Well, both are going to show dirt,” the wife says in reply. “If you’re okay with that, either is fine with me.”
In a wide stance, the husband stands in silence for a moment and ponders his options.
“What do you think, Tim?”
I, being startled that someone is asking me a question, give my opinion as an 18-year-old who is in way over his head.
“Black is dope.”
They both laugh, as I probably remind them of their son and we walk inside. They buy the truck and I walk around with an undeserving sense of accomplishment for the rest of the day.
“I bet you’re trying to make money off of me.”
That’s how a business works, dumbass.
Selling a car can be a real battle because there are times when the customer doesn’t like you. The salesman is a necessary evil for them and instead of coming into the sale with an open mind, they come right out of the gate and make it known that they’re onto you.
“I bet you’re trying to make money off of me,” says a customer.
I never knew how to respond to comments like that because my knee-jerk reaction was always, That’s how a business works, dumbass. But apparently, that’s not “polite.”
There were plenty of times when I nearly ground my teeth down to the gums when I dealt with difficult customers. But no customer was worse than Barb.
Barb and her husband Bob came to see me during my third month on the job.
Bob was a World War II veteran and the nicest guy in the world. He was a short, frail man with cargo shorts pulled up to his heart of gold. His smile was infectious.
Barb was Bob’s wife. That’s about the nicest thing I can say about her that’s not a lie. She was several years younger than Bob and she was the human equivalent of ramming a fork into your eyeball. Her rude comments were draped in a serendipitous tone.
“You know, this car isn’t worth the price you’re selling for,” she said. Those were her first words to me after “Hello.”
The car she was referring to was a 2-door, Pontiac G5. It was the summer of 2009 and Pontiac had just gone under. So, there was a fire sale of the last remaining models on the lot. If you needed a new car cheap, you needed a Pontiac that summer.
With factory rebates and the dealership discounts at the time, you could buy that car for about $7,000 less than the sticker price. Add in their $3,000 trade-in and it’s $10,000 off a brand-new car.
Barb was the type of customer that wanted $10,000 off a car, followed by an additional $5,000 and the blood of my first-born son. She was the epitome of the phrase, “The customer is always right,” a phrase that is incorrect (As explained in the above link about trade-in’s).
After two hours, we came to the make-or-break point — the handshake. Bob and Barb could either agree to purchase the car or they could walk away. The final deal a brand-new car for under $10,000, five free oil changes and free car washes.
“Do we have a deal,” I asked them. Bob was ready to shake my hand. Barb was not.
“Hmmm,” Barb said. “I just feel you could meet us more in the middle.”
I nearly bit my tongue off. I went over what she was getting three times, slapping the back of my left hand into the palm of my right hand with every single thing she was getting.
A brand-new car for $10,000 less than the sticker price (SMACK), $3,000 for your trade-in (SMACK), five free oil changes (SMACK), free car washes (SMACK).
By this time, I was completely unaware of my temperament. I was so focused on seeing this lady to buy this car or get hit by a bus that I was unaware of how I looked and sounded.
During my third round of hand smacks, I saw a coworker about 10 yards behind my customers. His eyes were the size of dinner plates and he was doing the cut-it-out hand motion at this neck.
Barb finally agreed, adding that she liked me and didn’t mind paying a little more. With blood nearly coming out of my eyeballs, I thanked them both for the business and sent them on their way.
If a customer wants to purchase a car, they can lower the price of their new car by trading in their old car.
It’s a simple exchange that’s made difficult because everyone believes themselves to be an expert, especially in areas in which they have absolutely zero knowledge or experience. Coincidentally, every customer I had was an expert in valuing the price of used cars.
“This car is worth $15,000 at the least,” says a customer about his 1997 Buick LeSabre with 120,000 miles on it and stained, cloth seats that look like the aftermath of a murder.
“Listen, you’re not being fair. This car has low mileage. It’s worth at least $12,000,” says another customer whose 2012 Toyota Camry is in mint condition if you look past the massive crater in the right-front side of the car.
“I know I could resell this for more than what you’re offering,” says a guy who’s about to see his entire world get crapped on by reality.
FOR SALE: 2007 CHEVY SILVERADO. *$13K*
i used this truck for 10 years and it’s never let me down!!! its in mine condition and has its original air bgs, breaks and seatbelts. only 98-thousand miles on it. needs new air filter. also needs an oil change and transmission fluid.
SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY!!!!!
My favorite line always began with “Well, Kelly Blue Book says…”
Kelly Blue Book is a vehicle valuation company that gives you an idea of what a car is worth based on a variety of factors like make, model, mileage and damage. It’s a basic estimation but people quoted it like the law and ALWAYS quoted the “Great Condition” price.
“Kelly Blue Book says $15,000! My car is spotless and runs like a dream.”
“Your car screeches like a banshee when it shifts gears and it’s covered in scratches.”
“There are no scratches on my car.”
“Sir, I’m looking right at them. I can point them out to you.”
“No, that’s probably hair.”
“I’m rubbing the spots. It’s not hair. Those are scratches. It looks like you drove over a bunch of cats and they tried to climb up the bumper as you drug them for miles.”
“Fine………..$14,500. But I’m serious! That’s the lowest I’m going!”
Trading in a car is not difficult if you come into the deal with a sense of reality and a basic understanding of how a business works. A dealership is not a charity. It’s better than charity because the dealership actually gives you money for your trade-in, which usually goes towards lowering the price of the new car.
People wanted $18,000 for their trash bag on wheels but didn’t think a brand-new luxury SUV is worth more than $14,000.
That’s the kind of bartering I dealt with as a salesman.
It’s Wednesday, so this seems like the perfect time for wisdom because alliteration I guess.
We shift from Motivation Monday to Taco Tuesday to Wisdom Wednesday and then to Thirsty Thursday. It’s like we know all the motivational posters and faux wisdom can get old in 24 hours.
So before you drown yourself in Tequila tomorrow, take in some wisdom from the best source around — Twitter.
Workout your mind
It’s attributed to Unknown because no one knows anyone who would say something this dumb. There are plenty of bad workouts that are far worse than not working out at all.
A bad workout is getting your larynx crushed by a barbell because your spotter was too busy saying “YOU GOT THIS BRO! I’M HERE FOR YOU!” while hovering his junk in your face.
Sitting and doing moderate work burns 170 calories per hour, according to a Google search I skimmed.
That’s deep, bro
Making a faux wisdom post is really simple — include buzz words and instruct menial, pointless tasks. Be sure to make it vague, too.
What if a forklift driver who hates being sober at work is reading this, Aaron?
I understand that some people mean well when they write things like this. But if they follow more than 900k people on Twitter and their header image is their signature, then it’s a good sign that maybe the person behind the #wisdom is full of it.
That’s deep, gurl
Again, this is mindless conjecture that sounds deep because it’s so simple. I’m surprised she didn’t make all the lines rhyme.
Can’t pay rent with happiness. I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m a cynical moron who eats food over the sink despite having plates, but I’m no more successful than I was yesterday.
Health is not wealth because she just said it’s happiness that is the new rich. Kindness is not cool. The coolest guy I know is John Wick and he spends 90 minutes shooting and stabbing people.
A Pooh in the woods
This isn’t wisdom. It’s a statement of fact between a young pig and the dumbest bear in the woods. More specifically, a dumb bear with no job, no pants and an uncomfortable infatuation with a young boy.
They even made a movie about how Pooh stalks the boy who has grown up and has a family of his own. It’s called, Winnie the Pooh and the Expired Restraining Order.
Bill Murray sucks
Bill Murray, a hero to every guy who has The Chive as his Google Chrome home page, sucks.
To be a successful salesman, you have to have charisma and knowledge about the product you’re selling. I had neither. I didn’t know anything about cars and I was repulsed by those who had the gall to want to buy one from me.
Tim Godfrey to the showroom for a customer, the secretary would page on any given afternoon.
An 18 year-old Tim, wearing a wrinkled, purple-and-pink striped American Eagle dress shirt and light khaki pants, sat in the breakroom during the middle of his second consecutive lunch hour.
“Rrr yoooo frrrrkkkkiiinnnggg kudding meeeh,” he says through a mouth full of a Po’ Boy sandwich, crumbs shooting out of his mouth like an open fire hydrant on a hot summer day.
Before I was an above-average writer, I was a below average car salesman.
There were two days that are burned into my memory from my time in sales. Here is the story about one of those days — my first day on the job.
Seeing the bare ass of a man in his mid-30’s is not how I wanted to start my gym session but that’s exactly what happened.
It was around 11 p.m. when I walked into what I believed to be an empty gym. I had just gotten off work and there wasn’t a soul around, or so I thought. Not that I planned on doing anything devious when I knew there’d be no witnesses. But if given the option, I’d prefer complete isolation over having to share a communal space with someone else, lest they try and engage in small talk or inadvertently show me their moneymaker.
My gym doesn’t have locker rooms. Just two bathrooms and two shower rooms. It’s a small inconvenience as I have to shove everything in the sink to change clothes, but it’s a small price to pay to avoid seeing old, naked men just peruse through a larger locker room.
Male locker rooms are disgusting. They’re like a gas station bathroom but with more floor space and a stronger smell. They smell like someone lit 50 Yankee Candles whose scent was “ripe crotch.” The smell is abhorrent and inescapable. Thankfully, the heat and humidity make the smell tangible enough to enter your mouth and eyeballs.
The locker room etiquette is equally as offensive. Men treat the gym locker room like an embassy for their home.
The only rule is there are no rules. Just walk around like a bear in the forest; naked and completely unaware that 10 other guys are watching you from afar, frightened of what you might do next.
Oh, god. He’s shaving in the sink. He’s just leaving the hair in there. Now he’s powdering himself with one leg up on the sink. For God’s sake, someone tranquilize him!
There is no exaggeration. I have seen guys shave, powder and even fire snot rockets into the sink and I fully endorse tranquilizing them and releasing them to the sewers.
As I walked from the front door of my gym, I put my headphones on and started playing music. I made my way down the path between the workout machines, all empty. I looked to my right to see if anyone had been in the free weight station. Not a soul.
Then, I opened the first bathroom door, which was unlocked. There it was — a stranger’s ass.
“Oh Jesus,” I said. I speak louder when I have my headphones on, so I probably gave this guy a heart attack as he hopped on one leg. He muffled something, but I couldn’t hear it. I just kept instinctively repeating, “Jesus, sorry. JESUS! Sorry.”
I considered working out in my work attire to avoid a second run-in with this idiot who doesn’t know how to lock a bathroom door. Or he was probably another bumbling oof who thought there was no need to lock the door as he was the only person in the gym at 11 p.m.