me years to make. Have you ever sold a dodgy car, Joe?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Marty laughed heartily. “Of course you do, Joe. Picture this: you’re trying to flog a five-year-old car that’s got a suspect history. You bought it from a scrap dealer who bought it from a guy who’d crashed it badly. Now you know I know nothing about cars. I trust your every word beyond a shadow of a doubt. If I was to ask you has this car been involved in a crash, would you tell me the truth?”
Joe roared laughing. “Of course not! What do you take me for … a complete fool? If I tell you that car had been wrapped around a lamppost, would you buy it?”
“Of course not. But I’d be surprised that you were trying to sell it to me in the first place. I’d warn everyone not to go near you.”
“That’s why I wouldn’t tell you in the first place. Looks are deceiving, Marty. The same goes for cars also.”
Marty smiled. “I guessed you’d say that. Now picture this: if Liz, your wife, fell in love with that same car in your showroom and told you she had to have it, would you let her drive it?”
“Of course not!” Joe said instantly.
“Well, what’s the difference?” Marty asked.
Joe mulled over his question. “What do you mean, what’s the difference? The difference is that a customer who walks in off the street is a stranger who I’ll probably never see again, so I don’t have to worry that I sold him a dodgy car, and the other is my future wife, you idiot!” Joe raised his finger. “Hang on a minute, how did you know her name is Liz?”
“Because you told me a few minutes ago.”
“Did I?” Joe said.
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