So I have a great number of friends who don’t agree with the way I see some things in the world, nor do I agree with them, and that’s okay. Some of them are very respectful of my different thoughts, and some are… less so.
Don’t get me wrong; they respect me as a human who likes doing good in the world, but they have no respect for my point of view in certain areas. And one of those areas came up this morning.
One of my dear friends is the literal polar-opposite of me, politically, even though we get along famously in almost every other facet of life.
Yes, this is possible.
I posted a meme on Facebook that I had not thought of, but it’s brilliant.
Friends on both sides of the fractured aisle liked it and even shared it. Then one friend told me that while this is a good way of looking at things, it doesn’t quite fly because one particular party is just beyond wrong in every single way humans can be wrong.
It got me to thinking about how so many of my friends try to get me to change my mind on things. Some do so tactfully, and a couple in the past have flat-out said, “Shame on you!”
Surprisingly, I’m still friends with those people, though I’ve simply stopped engaging them.
But then I went back to the meme. I thought to myself, ‘how could I explain this to folks who don’t believe in it, so that they might actually think about it?’ And then I thought of the one group of people who have to do this every day of their working lives:
Car Salespeople.
So here’s the scenario: your car is on its last rim. How you’ve passed state inspections for the past five years has been the work of almighty God, Himself. You sit down and think to yourself, ‘I’m going to get me a hate-tank… and it’s going to be everything I need to make me happy in life!’
However, no one likes buying a car. You bristle at the fact that you’re going to spend five minutes picking the thing, and then spending five hours sitting in the lobby looking at cars that you’ll never be able to afford, knowing that the salespeople in the lobby looking at you know that you’re looking at cars you’ll never be able to afford, and praying that those bad checks you wrote in college seventeen years ago have finally been taken off your credit report.
Hey, when you’re drunk and hungry and Little Caesars is silly enough to not check your bank account…
So the next day, you go in and say to the salesperson, “I’d like nine-passenger hate-tank, please.” You choose this for a host of reasons: you need the space for tons of kids, you like the size, you have gear to haul… whatever. Primarily, it’s because it’s shiny and big and badass.
The salesperson might say, “Excellent choice! So what do you usually use it for? Work? Fun? Family? All three”
“I’m a video producer, and I have a lot of gear. Plus, I’m a coach for my kids. Oh, and we take road trips with the dog, so I need a third row.”
This is gonna go two ways if the salesperson thinks you might be making a mistake. While they’re amazing specimens of automobile ingenuity, a lot of times the hate-tank can be a really bad idea in theory, especially if you don’t have enough room in your garage to house an almost eighteen-foot-long behemoth. One good unprotected hail-storm is enough for you to find out just how bad your insurance coverage actually might be.
But you want it, so you’re getting it.
Way 1: Well, that’s a nice vehicle, but you might be more interested in a mini-van. It’s got way more features, it’s way more comfortable, and gets better mileage. Plus for the dog, it’s got captains chairs in the second row, so Fifi can easily get back and forth from the side door to row numero tres. It’s better than that hate-tank.”
Immediately, the purchaser is on the defensive, because right off the bat, the salesperson has intimated that the purchaser is wrong, without even asking the person their thoughts on their passion for the hate-tank. Maybe the purchaser thinks the hate-tank is the only way he can keep up with the Joneses, or maybe he has no idea what he’s missing in today’s amazing minivans. But that has now gone out the window, because an aspersion has already been made into the purchaser’s judgment before a discussion has had the real opportunity to unfold.
“Thanks, but I want the hate-tank.”
The salesperson persists, “But don’t you want to…”
“No thanks, I’m good,” the purchaser says.
“Well that’s just stupid! What kind of moron would take a hate-tank over a minivan?!” barks the salesperson.
These days, this is how most people who are ingrained in their ideology tend to speak to people who don’t agree with them. And this is why so many people have a genuine loathing not just for politics, but for the people espousing their preferred ideology.
Friendships, and even families, end this way.
Or…
…there’s Way 2: “Hate tanks are really popular. Look, I know they’re not nearly as sexy, but would you permit me to tell you about what you could get if you just took a peek at what a loaded mini-van can get you for a couple-thousand less?”
(Once you hear “a couple thousand less,” your curiosity is at least piqued. Plus, it was said with genuine manners… and you know you’re going to look like an asshole if you just shoot someone down who’s been so courteous.)
“Fine,” the purchaser mutters… maybe half-assedly, but at least with a somewhat open mind.
“Thank you so much. Well first of all, hate-tanks are amazing. They’re big and powerful, can drive over single-story buildings, and have enough cargo space to haul some small countries. Plus, they just look really amazing. The issue may arise when you start really using it for your video gear, or when you go on road trips. You with me?”
“Yes,” you say… because you know you’re driving to Florida next month for Spring Break, and you have three video shoots this week alone.
The salesperson goes further: “So the hate-tank has a thirty-four gallon gas tank, and gets eleven miles-per-gallon on the highway… while the minivan has an eighteen gallon tank, with twenty-three highway. You’re going to be spending as much time filling up on your road trip, while spending an astronomical amount on fuel.”
‘Yikes,’ you think… stone-faced.
“But the real beauty of the minivan…”
(Now this is important. The salesperson has to remember to not flat-out excoriate the idea of the hate-tank, because you had your reasons for wanting one. And while you must be educated enough to have a job to afford a hate-tank, your job has nothing to do with actual intelligence. After all, some of the smartest people the salesperson knows went to trade school and now build bathroom pods for hospitals because they’re doing good in the world, make a decent living, and they get to see their kids play sports on the weekend. I mean, how intelligent is that? Pretty freaking intelligent if you ask the salesperson.)
“… is in your day-to-day, where you live. If you’re a video producer, you must have a lot of gear. Lights, cameras, the whole thing. So the minivan I want to show you has a cargo deck that is over eighteen inches lower than the hate-tank. Meaning, you don’t have to raise it up nearly as much… which is a savior on your back. Plus, the third row, which you may only use for trips to the park with Fido and the occasional time you have to take a few kids home from practice, folds flat into the floor, which means you have enough space to camp back there. And then there’s even more. There’s so much space, that you can fit all of your gear back there, and still not have to even touch the second row, which could come in incredibly handy if you finish your video shoot and have to pick your kids up from school afterwards. There’s no need to dump the gear to get done what you need to get done.”
And with that… you’re almost sold. Almost, because so many of us cling to the last vestiges of what we thought we really wanted, when in reality, we follow the herd because that is what we were always taught to do.
“The only thing I ask is that you experience what it feels like to sit in it. Play with the ten speaker system, check out the video screen for the kiddos for road trips, feel the heated fourteen-way corinthian leather seats, and floor the accelerator attached to the 3.6L 305HP engine.”
“Well…” you say.
“And if you STILL want the hate-tank after all of that, I will happily show you a lot full of them, and we’ll find you the perfect one.”
And two hours later after the financing goes through (barely), you drive home in the minivan you didn’t know you wanted, but now you cant live without.
And THAT is how we need to speak with each other. In the second way, the salesman didn’t castigate, or call a name, or even hint that he felt the purchaser was a troglodyte for wanting such a fossil-fuel burning, flame-spewing, hate-edifying hunk of animalistic aggression (which I actually LOVE, btw). He simply stated that he had a different alternative, and then he did what ALL good salespeople do: they let their customers make up their minds for themselves.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go drive to my storage facility in my fifth minivan. I have a shoot next week.
