I borrow a penis to get my car repaired.
When I get my car repaired, I have a man book the job for me, then I pretend that I am the girlfriend or the daughter bringing the car in for him because, of course. “He has to work today.”
Having a vagina is getting in the way of a good deal on front end suspension work?
I am a feminist through and through. It is with great shame that I admit, that I use a borrowed prick to get the best deal. The shrieks and howls of feminists like Mary Shelly and Gertrude Stein are rolling over in their graves at the horror of it all.
Why did my foremothers march for independence and equality, when I still can’t get the same price on a set of tires as my brother can? Some days I don’t know. We are just one step away from a Jane Austin novel, where the family has lost the family home and income because they did not produce a male heir.
The last time, I went to get a repair done, my mother and I watched one of those how-to videos on youtube about how the repair was done. About halfway through it, my mom turned to me and said, “Is this what it sounds like when aren’t talking down to you?” I said, “I think so, it has never happened to me before”
There is no reason that I should have to pay more for car repairs because I have tits, but the sad fact is that I do pay more. I have tested this theory every time I need a repair, even for tires.
Truth be told, even when I bought the car. My dad called up from across the country and got a better deal than I was offered on the spot.
What is it about my waist to hip ratio that makes mechanics treat me like a total idiot?
Just today I was in a large automotive chain, Firestone. My dad called to negotiate the deal for me and I just brought the car in. The man behind the counter said he did not know what was wrong with the car so he could not give me a price. I said, no problem because I knew the car needed new bushings on the lower control arms.
I even mentioned that the price I sometimes have to have men call in for me to get the best price. He interrupted me mid-sentence, to tell me that I was totally wrong about that. I pointed out to him, that the best way to prove that he is not considering my pussy in his pricing was not to cut me off when I am talking.
The mechanic clearly heard what I said, then told me but he didn’t know what was wrong with the car, so he would call my dad after he checked out the car. What this guy did was a total bypass of the woman standing in front of him in favor of the authoritative male farther away.
I did what any woman would do when being ignored and discounted in a public forum, I stood up a little bit more stuck out my 38 G boobs and said,
“It is the bushings on the lower control arms, both sides. I don’t want to replace the arms, but I know the bushings are blown. You can just change the bushings right, you have the press for it?”
He nods, slightly dumbfounded but he may have just been staring at the cleavage, which are abundant. I continue:
“ and I don’t want to hear anything about replacing the whole control arm, because I just replaced them in 2015 and unless they are rusted out, I am not paying for it.”
I shrug my shoulders back again, even I can’t keep these boulders totally in the holders for long.
“And another thing, you said you would check out the car for free right?” Sort of open mouth nod at this point, I think he is still breathing. “Double check the ball joint while you are in the neighborhood, I paid for Honda replacement parts.”
Now I know he is just staring at my tits. I get the sinking suspicion that I sound like the teacher in the Peanuts cartoon to him. Wha Wha Wha wa wa.
I told him, I would pick it up by 6 and walked out with my hips swaying.
I called my parents on the way home to joke about it but my dad still does not believe that the presences of the Y, as in XY vs XX is more inclined to bring you a better price on automotive service. He says he doesn’t understand, why I can’t seem to negotiate a good price. The phone went out a bit but I think my mom may have hit him over the head with her car manual.
