BY
IRVING FANG
Faint
car never won fair lady!...
Make
your car proud of you!...
Grinning
Gregory helps used people!
From
“Worlds of Science Fiction, August 1958.”
It's
had it. Finished. Done. My wonderful red Thunderflash, I thought to myself,
isn't worth the electricity to atomize it to Kingdom Come.
Ever
since that drunk in his two-seat Charioteer plowed into the rear end with such
force that even my radar repellant couldn't stop it, my Thunderflash had been
out of kilter. The specialists my garage recommended worked over it for two
days, but couldn't get it to running the way it did new.
And
what was I supposed to do for an automobile now? I had signed the customary
40-year pact for half my salary to pay for it. That meant I would still be
shelling out by 2117.
Weeping
over it wasn't going to do any good. It was stuck on the fifth level expressway
and that was that. I levered myself out (at least the ejector still worked)
then got behind the car and gave it a good old-fashioned push to get it on an
off-ramp, out of the stream of traffic.
After
I parked I remembered I was heading for a date with Jenny. I checked my wallet.
No, not enough for a taxi there. I would just have to phone her to cancel the
date.
Reluctantly
I pushed the tip of my tongue against my tooth telephone.
"Operator,"
said the operator.
"Poplar
3104, please."
"Thank
you. One moment. I'll ache it for you."
She
dialed the number of the tooth telephone in Jenny's mouth, so the two fine
wires sent gentle electric currents into the nerve. On the third ache Jenny
clicked the receiver open with the tip of her tongue.
"Hello?"
"Jenny,
this is Arnold. I won't be able to come over this evening."
"But
we had a date," Jenny said in a petulant voice.
"I
know, but my car broke down."
"Again?"
"Yes,
honey."
"Why
don't you do something about it?" Jenny complained.
"But
baby, what can I do? I've been to the garage. I've been to the specialists. I'm
so broke on account of these repair bills I've been living on macaroni
concentrate for the last couple of weeks."
Jenny,
my beautiful sweetheart, was distinctly unhappy. "Don't come to me with
your troubles," she replied. "In fact, you don't have to come to me
at all until you can come like a gentleman."
"Aw,
listen just a minute, Jenny," I started to plead. But it was too late.
Jenny had clicked off.
A
fine thermokettle of fish! A month ago I had a shiny lifetime car and was
romancing the best looking girl in town. Then one drunk comes along and my car
is next to useless and my girl is mad at me.
Feeling
in a distinctly blue mood I moved my tongue to the other side of my mouth and
shoved on my tooth radio. I rolled the tongue over the bottom of the tooth
until I got a program with some blues music. Just the way I felt. The blues. I
sat in the front seat of my Thunderflash and listened to the music echoing
against my tonsils.
After
the song came the inevitable commercial. Only this was a new one. The announcer
said:
"Here's
some big, big, big news from Grinning Gregory, your largest volume dealer in
lifetime cars. Gregory announced today that his used people lots are nearly
empty. Yes, Grinning Gregory's used people lots are nearly empty. And that
means good, good, good news for you car owners with lifetime contracts who
would like new cars.
"Grinning
Gregory has added to his stocks of new Orions, Thunderflashes, Galaxies,
Solars, Charioteers, Protons and Fords. For the first time in two years, yes,
the first time in two years, he has more new cars than new people to sell them
to.
"So
he is offering a limited number of them to used people, you folks who have had
cars, on his conveniently located used people lots. Come on down and let some
of Grinning Gregory's new cars look you over. Be sure and bring photostats of
your credit ratings and official car histories. Hurry, hurry, hurry and avoid
the rush to Grinning Gregory's used people lots."
The
commercial ended and was replaced by music.
Gosh,
that was exciting news. Ever since the accident I had given up hope of ever
owning a decent running car again, automobile prices and government
restrictions being what they were.
I
clicked on my tooth telephone and ached my garage mechanic to come by and pick
up my car. Then I took my credit rating and official car history from the glove
compartment and caught a helibus to the nearest of Grinning Gregory's used
people lots.
________________________________________
A
lot of guys were already there before me, most of them in the same fix I was.
They had been in accidents or they were divorced and their wives got custody of
the car, although they still had to pay for it.
Some
of them had been on the lot for some time and looked a little shopworn under
the lights and fluttering pennants, but they hadn't found a car yet that would
take them. We were all classified as used people, a lot less desirable than
people who hadn't signed for cars yet.
One
of Grinning Gregory's contract brokers lined us up in a row facing the path the
cars would come by robot direction. The fellow to my right slicked his hair
down neatly and began shining his shoe-tops on the backs of his trouser legs.
"Sure
hope I get selected," he whispered nervously to me. "Boy, don't you
sometimes wish you were living a couple of hundred years ago when cars were
cheap enough so that people were doing the picking?"
"Not
me," I told him. "Drive that junk? I'll admit you didn't have to
swear but a couple of years of your life away. But look at all you get now in a
car."
"Mmm,
I suppose you're right," he said. "My Orion was stolen a year ago
when I accidentally cut off the burglar photocell. The police never did find it
and I've been trying ever since to get another one."
"This
is the first time I've tried," I said. "My car...."
"Ssh,"
he interrupted. "Here they come."
A
procession of new cars, led by a beautiful green Solar convertible, inched its
way along the row of hopeful buyers, all of us with our credit ratings and car
histories pinned to our lapels.
Each
car's robot mechanism recorded our statistics, took our pictures, noted our
heights, weights and appearances, then began to correlate the data.
By
government order the robot mechanism was directed to select its most promising
future owner. A sobersides bank president, for example, might dearly love to
change his big black Galaxy sedan for a low-slung Charioteer sports car, but
sports cars were planned with crew-cutted college boys in mind, so the bank
president would be likely to end up with another big Galaxy. Of course, the
payment rate was fixed and the contracts were almost always for 40 years. A tie
salesman might want a Galaxy to make an impression on his neighbors, but he'd
probably wind up with a Proton or a Thunderflash like I had. I was a tie
salesman.
The
Solar came abreast of me. I stood straight and smiling as it began to note my
statistics. It flashed a 23 when it was done.
Not
so good. That put me in the 23 percentile rank of its desirability. The next
car, a rhinestone Ford, gave me a 28. I was rated 22, 31, 14 (by a Galaxy), 27,
35 and 30 by the next six cars. That was the way it went for the whole
procession. I received the highest rating, 58, from an experimental model
Proton that was no longer in production, but I knew it was rating everybody
higher and I was pretty gloomy.
Imagine
my surprise when my name was called out as one of the possible choices. I went
into the broker's office and was told the Proton would select me if I would get
rid of all but ten years of my Thunderflash contract. That meant I had to find
someone to take my car and 27 years of my contract, since I had been paying for
three years of the 40. The price of the Proton, the broker told me, was scaled
down to a 30-year contract because it was an off-model.
But
who would take my heap with a 27-year contract attached to it? The broker said
Grinning Gregory might go for five years, just out of the goodness of his big,
big, big heart. I wouldn't get that kind of a deal anywhere else, the broker
said.
Maybe
I wouldn't, but that didn't do me much good. I needed someone to take 27 years.
Harry!
Why didn't I think of Harry before? He didn't have a car yet. Skinflint Harry
didn't want to sign the standard 40-year contract for a car and he had been
shopping around for second-hand cars. Besides, good old Harry knew how crazy I
was about Jenny. He had even taken her out a couple of times.
I
gave Harry an ache on the telephone and told him I'd be right over. Then I
ached the garage and the mechanic told me he could get my Thunderflash in
pretty good running condition again, even though he couldn't promise anything
permanent. I caught a helibus to my friend's apartment.
"Harry,
old pal, I've got the chance of a lifetime for both of us."
Harry
eyed me suspiciously. "How's that?" he asked.
"Well,
here's the deal. You know my real fine Thunderflash? You said it was a sharp
car. It is. It's a first class car. But ever since that slight accident, I've
had just a wee bit of trouble with it. Not much, you understand, but it's
niggling enough to annoy my girl, Jenny. You remember Jenny, the girl you used
to go with before I cut you out? Ha! Ha! Anyhow, Jenny wants me to get another
car. A newer one."
"But
how can you?" Harry asked. "You already have one."
"That's
just it, old buddy," I replied. "Grinning Gregory has one of those
experimental model Protons. It's a beauty, shimmering orange with purple wheels
and bearskin upholstery. You'd love it. They'll let me have it on a 30-year
contract if I can sell 27 years of my Thunderflash contract. So here's what I'm
going to do for you, pal. I'll keep ten years of the contract and let you have
the Thunderflash for the rest. You'll be getting a three-year-old car with 13
years of the contract taken care of. Now is that a deal or is that a
deal!"
Harry
wasn't convinced. "What's wrong with your car?"
"Oh,
hardly anything."
"What's
hardly anything?"
"Not
even worth mentioning."
"What's
not worth mentioning?"
"To
tell the truth, the frame is just the least trifle out of line and every once
in a great while it makes the rear wheel twist sideways."
"I
don't know," said Harry.
"Good
old cautious, hard-headed Harry," I told him. "You are getting the
deal of a lifetime and doing a good, loyal friend a big favor besides."
"I
still don't know, Arnold," said Harry.
"All
right. When will you know?"
"Let
me sleep on it tonight."
"OK,
Harry."
I
went home in high spirits. I knew Harry would come through for me and take that
wreck off my hands. He always was a man with an eye out for a deal.
________________________________________
I
slept late the next morning, but by afternoon I was over to the used people lot
to tell them to hold the Proton for me for another day. Instead, they tapped me
over the head with the news that someone came in that morning and bought it.
And they didn't have another one like it that would accept me.
Another
hope gone astray! I caught a helibus to the garage and picked up my
Thunderflash after paying a whopping repair bill. I drove to Jenny's house to
convince her it was just as good as new.
Jenny's
mother met me at the door.
"Hello,
Arnold," she said with the big smile of greeting she always gave me.
"I'm glad to see you and I hope you'll keep dropping over to see me, but
Jenny isn't here any more."
"Not
here?"
"I'm
afraid not."
"Where
is she?"
"She
eloped less than an hour ago. You remember the boy she used to go with, Harry?
He came by in a beautiful new car. It was shimmering orange with purple wheels
and bearskin upholstery and...."