Many years ago, when my daughter was a teenager, I got the phone call all parents dread. At least my call came from my daughter, and not the police, so I knew immediately she was uninjured. “Mom. I’ve had an accident.”
She and four or five of her friends were out in my car, one that was too small for that many passengers. She turned left, took the turn too fast and ended up driving across the front yard of the first house.(It was mid afternoon, and those passengers should have been in class, but that’s a whole other story, I digress.)
To make a long story short, the kids were okay; but my car was a write off because my darling daughter drove over a tree, ripping up the yard and the undercarriage of my car. One of the neighbours, trying to add a light note, thanked her because the tree was ugly and needed to be removed. I think that ugly tree was a blessing because a bigger healthier tree may not have let those girls walk away unscathed.
At any rate, I ended up with a cheque in my pocket and went car shopping. The first thing I realized was that male salespersons did not take a woman seriously. I had one guy who tried to unload a pink mustang on me, and my son quickly stepped in and vetoed that purchase.
I remember having a little meltdown in the 4th or 5th dealership. “I have a cheque in my pocket. Why will no one take me seriously?” Remember this was twenty years ago, and hopefully things have changed. My bias, not so much. I still prefer dealing with female sales people.
But then I did something stupid, and most likely earned the reputation women might have had for not knowing how to intelligently buy a car. I bought a car because I liked the colour...purple. Not as ridiculous as that might sound, it was a very nice 4 door Sunfire, a perfect car for city driving and a single Mom with two kids.
And purple was my daughter’s favourite colour.