I hadn’t planned to mention my first visit to the car dealership to order a part for repair on the NEW champagne van but after my second trip, I thought it was worth noting.
I quickly noticed after my first visit that the waiting room at the dealership is simply not equipped for anyone traveling with a stroller. The two doors you are required to walk through are staggered, adjacent to each other and incredibly awkward. Also, the wheel-chair accessible button is broken on both doors so I’m on my own to hold the door open, pull a portion of the baby’s stroller through, do the bunny-hop on two toes, wedge myself in, turn the stroller on an impossible angle, hoping she doesn’t tip out and do it all over again.
The waiting room itself is a men’s sanctuary. Again, I had not planned to gripe and complain about this but upon first glance around the room, the display cases were filled with various baseball caps, the magazine selection was a pile of the following (in no particular order and I mean that in every sense); Bait & Tackle, Golf Digest, Better Farming, Sports Illustrated, Smart Money and Men’s Health.
Hath not a girl wheels? If you stone chip us, do we not crack?
I’m not suggesting women don’t fish, golf, farm, enjoy sports or intelligently invest, but that particular day, I just happened to be in the mood for, dare I say it, A DECORATING MAGAZINE.
It wasn’t until today’s visit with two kids that I really took notice.
We snaked our way through the maze of doors, following the trail of motor oil, with the stroller once again and Ellie, who almost immediately noticed an area with toys but returned to me slumped over and sadly stated, “These toys are all for boys.”
Upon closer inspection, I took inventory of the following toy options; a super cool police cruiser driven by “bad guys” who I am assuming had kidnapped the well meaning officers who probably came with the toy. Instead, the front seat was jammed with a large, plastic, toy man with some sort of bandit hat on his head, muscles as big as the car he was driving, a huge, dimpled chin and a larger than life moustache in dire need of some trimming, clearly, a bad guy. His skinny, much smaller sidekick had a goofy smile on his face and Ellie and I were not interested in being accomplices.
There was a race car track on the floor, a scary lion shaped stool to sit on, several more motorbikes, cars, robots and the consummate boy-toy, a naked Barbie.
Once again, it became clear, only men with male offspring drive cars. It must have taken the world by storm when a second woman appeared with two female children. I knew this before I even turned my head to peer over the trophy cases of power tools as I could hear her cursing the ridiculous placement of the double entry way before I could get up to help.
Hath not a Mom a mini-van? If you see us, do we not drive?
I don’t want to suggest that girls can’t be car lovers nor am I asking your dealership to stock up on polly pockets. Perhaps a puzzle, a box of Jenga blocks, deck of cards, some crayons, paper and how about a smart pant-suit for that Barbie?
