A Horrific Short Story
Word Count:  2.6K
$0.00 e / $3.95 a

All he wanted was a little paint modification for his new car.


           “But I want that car.” He emphasized each word very clearly, very distinctly.

            “Sir,” the salesman began again, leaning over his black Lucite and chrome desk. “As I’ve said before, you can have the car. I would love to sell you the car, but it must be as is. The model does not come with the option for additional decoration.”

            Rolling his eyes, Deems tried to compromise. “Surely there is somebody in your body shop who can do a decent paint job? Hell and damnation! How much trouble can it be to add a few simple racing stripes?” Feeling the heat rise up into his face, he realized he needed to calm down or his doctor would double up the dosage on his blood pressure medicine.

            “If I’m gonna pay a hundred and eighty-eight thousand for a car, the least you can do is get some red paint and put two or three of those real pretty, skinny lines all the way down the sides, just above the fender line. Crap, I’d do it myself but I haven’t got a real steady hand. Not at my age, anyway.” And I’m too damn old for all this nonsense, too, Deems thought as he pulled a hand across his forehead.

            The salesclerk stood up. “Look, do you mind if I go talk with my manager for a minute?” The impasse had to end somewhere, and it was obvious it was going to take the intervention of someone higher up before any further progress could be made.

            “Please do!” Deems snapped. “And if he won’t agree to my request, I’ll want to have a talk with him myself!” he yelled at the retreating back. “Haven’t you people ever heard the phrase ‘the customer is always right’?”