Tom Sawyer's Auto Spa

Man is a curious being. He only appreciates warmth after suffering extreme cold. He only appreciates cold after time spent in stifling heat. He only appreciates relaxation after heavy toil, and he only appreciates work after he has sat around bored and aimlessly despondent with no purpose.

Tom was an exception to this curious human trait, perfectly capable of enjoying sluggish relaxation while others did his share of the work, even considering it a challenge to swindle, cajole and manipulate others to complete his necessary tasks. As a boy, Tom had been able to get other boys to do the chores that his Aunt Polly had assigned him to do simply by his powers of persuasion and his ability to manipulate others. That seemed like a hundred years ago now, but Tom was still Tom.

P.T. Barnum was claimed to have once said that “There’s a sucker born every minute.” Tom had made it his goal to find each and every one of them and exploit their weakness. Having taken this philosophy to heart he had parlayed it into a profitable business exceeding his own expectations. Mr. Huckleberry Finn, his associate and business partner had helped him attain this level of business success through his restorative and mechanical talents, turning old jalopies into somewhat presentable shadows of their former selves.

Recently Huck, as he was known informally, had started to wear a suit like Tom and leave this work for the employees, concentrating on learning the financial end of the business, wherein the customer could really be raked over the financial coals.

Tom had been watching a potential customer across the street looking at the establishment. He had already sized him up as a Tire Kicker, someone who wishes to appear knowledgeable, but is not.

The sign over the lot had originally read Tom Sawyer’s Auto Nirvana. Nirvana  improperly implied that these cars had expired and would be best left to sleep eternally in that great junk yard in the sky, as opposed to a quality vehicle that had endured some hard times but now after a treatment at the auto spa, was restored and rejuvenated to its old self with a spring in its chassis, ready  to serve a new owner for many carefree years to come. Thus, the word Spa had been painted over Nirvana.

The customer had dust on his dress pants and his shoes were scuffed. Clearly, he needed a ride. Tom prepared himself now for his performance as his mark crossed the street to the front door.

“Good Morning Sir,” said Burt Fuller. “How are you today?”

It had been Tom’s place to greet the customer and not the other way around, but he seemed to have sunk into a depressive state, incapable of proper etiquette.

“Hello,” murmured Tom through his pathos. “I’ve been better.”

“Well how is that? You seem to have a nice successful place here,” Burt replied, swallowing the bait, hook, line and sinker.

“Well I find it very hard to let these cars go after I have adopted and cared for them. They are like my children leaving the nest to venture out into a sometimes unpredictable and dangerous world.”

Tom collected himself. “But enough about me,” he said, shaking off his somber mood. “How can I help you today?”

Tom peered up at Burt while simultaneously reading his body language.

“Well I am in the market for a car,” stated Burt. “It doesn’t need to be fancy, but it must be reliable to get me to work. I don’t have much to spend either having sunk too much into my previous vehicle.”

“I understand. Nobody ever has a lot of money to spend but everyone wants a great car at a cheap price,” mused Tom. “You’re in luck today, Burt. The vehicle before us of which I am currently mourning the loss of in advance, meets all your requirements, being both inexpensive and dependable.”

“It seems like it has some dents if you don’t mind me saying so,” Burt told him.

“These are the remembrances of times past that give the car a history and character all its own,” Tom said. “Memory is the proud treasure of wounded hearts, musing over the struggles and conflicts man has overcome.”

Burt thought this over.

“How about the cracks and fissures in the paint?” he questioned.

“Burt, would you ask the curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art to give an extra coat of paint to cover any cracks or fissures in one of Rembrandt’s masterpieces?”

“I guess not,” said Burt thinking over this quandary.

“Of course, no car is perfect unless you buy it from the new car dealer, and then you must face the reduced quality standards of new automobiles,” Tom informed him.

Burt ruminated on this new perspective.

“Listen Burt, I don’t easily offer one of my gems to just anyone, but I like you and want to see you drive away confident that you have made a great purchase. Injun Joe’s Used Car Lot is just down the road. I’m sure that he can fix you up with some beaten up old junkbox masquerading as a quality vehicle. Just make sure to save one of the hub caps when it invariably falls off, to store all the nuts and bolts in as they are shed by your new chariot. True, Injun Joe is a smooth talker and after offering you the peace pipe, he will leave you scalped of all the cash in your wallet and with a financial Tomahawk in your back. Please excuse my ethnic and politically incorrect statements but I wish to give you a true measure of the man.”

Burt mulled this over.

“I’m offering you uncompromising luxury, rich Corinthian leather, solid state construction, classic painting. Newly rejuvenated in our Auto Spa, this masterpiece is ready to rise again like the Phoenix of old, resplendent and majestic as it delivers you to your destination, effortlessly and in true style!”

Burt decided on the purchase without a road test or even trying any other vehicles, not wanting to lose out on this heirloom.

Mr. Finn took this lamb to the financial slaughter to work out the details. Tom, having completed a call to his wife, the former Becky Thatcher – telling her to book a trip to Aruba – renewed his mournful stance as another customer approached.

Jim

July 2020