The Real Reason I'm Fed Up - A Brutally honest car buying story.

Do you ever have one of those days where everything—and I mean everything from the sound of someone breathing too loud to your coffee being just slightly off—makes you want to scream into the void? Yeah, same. And let me tell you, the last two weeks have been a masterclass in patience I didn’t sign up for.

Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not someone who flies off the handle for no reason. But there comes a point where all the little things pile up until the last straw doesn’t just break the camel’s back—it sets the whole damn desert on fire. Is it middle-aged, menopausal woman energy? Maybe. But I’m telling you, I have zero tolerance left for people who make things harder than they need to be.

Case in point: my recent car buying saga. I’ve been driving the same trusty Kia Optima for 13 years. Bought it used with 128,000 miles already clocked, and that beauty never let me down. No big repairs, no drama, just pure reliability. So naturally, when it was finally time to upgrade, Kia was my first stop.

We hit up the local dealership, and the salesman was fine. Nice enough. But I’ve been in sales. I know the game. And the moment the BS tactics start creeping in, I’m already mentally out the door. We found a car I liked, but couldn’t agree on price. Shame. Cue the dealership crawl.

Fast forward to the next day. I’m online, half hopeful, half over it, when boom—there it is. My dream car. Same model, low mileage, and the right color. Was it fate? Maybe. Was it listed at a BMW dealership? Red flag number one.

Still, I went. And let me tell you, the experience went downhill faster than my patience on a hot flash. They wouldn’t budge on the price. Not even pretend to work with me. No extra key fob, no little incentives, and the cherry on top? They completely lowballed my trade-in. At that point, I wasn’t negotiating. I was surviving. I just wanted to be done.

And honestly, I think what pissed me off more than the actual deal was the vibe. That smug, I-make-more-than-you attitude. That fake politeness that reeks of superiority. Here’s the thing—I’ve never met someone who thinks they’re better than everyone else and actually is. We’ve all got skeletons, babe. Don’t act like yours don’t rattle.

I love the car. I do. It drives like a dream. But the dealership? Absolute nightmare. And I’m still dealing with them, two weeks later. Paperwork they forgot, signatures they missed, and now they’re acting like it’s my emergency? Sorry, bruh. You dropped the ball. That doesn’t mean I’m picking it up on your timeline.

So yeah, if I seem a little snappy lately, it’s because I’ve hit my limit. I'm fresh out of grace and fully stocked on "nope." I’ve been patient, understanding, and civil. But I’m not here to coddle incompetence. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s the hormone hurricane. Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the world we’re living in, where nobody wants to take responsibility anymore.

But I’ll say this: I’m not playing that game. And if that ruffles some feathers or bruises some egos, so be it. Because at some point, you have to say enough is enough. And baby, that point was two weeks ago.

So here I am, sipping lukewarm coffee, loving my new ride, and praying I never have to see those BMW dealership clowns again. Amen and hallelujah.