The other day, I took the family by the Honda lot because, well, I love the line. Confession time: I’m a Honda homer. I love their stuff. I’d buy one every month if I could. You might recall that I’ve had my eye on a Honda Odyssey for a while. And a Crosstour. And now, my latest discovery at the Honda lot: the CRZ which is a hybrid vehicle that’s cousin to the old CRX…the little hatchback Civic which was made popular and promptly abandoned by the early-90s. It’s a sexy little hybrid. Manual 6-speed. Yeah, I’d rock that.
Only thing different about this trip is that I’m going during business hours which is always dangerous. Not that I’m in complete avoidance of talking to a sales rep, I just don’t like to. I’d rather not. Not only do I know the line and don’t need to be sold a Honda (because, in my case, they sell themselves…I’m just looking for the right color), I’m also driving a 2004 Civic that’s been paid off for well over two years and has only 60,000 miles on it and the other automobile is a nice CRV which is nice for little one. We’re in no position to get a new Honda and especially a little two door hybrid.
If you’re on a the lot during business hours, they don’t know this. I’m approached by a female sales rep (lovely wife hates the term “female” but it sounds better than my other options: “a lady sales rep,” “a saleslady,” “a woman sales rep”…but it’s important to know that she’s was, in fact, a woman). She begins asking me the basic questions, hands me her card and, for some stupid reason, I decide to start talking shop. I’m asking about the new CRZ. I mention it looks like the old CRX, ask if they’re keeping the Insight in production, ask when the CRV is due for a new touch, ask about the engine on the Crosstour. I’m engaging in a ritual that is closely attributed to men. My posturing on the car lot was very much an act like a peacock spreading his feathery tail. But her response to my posturing and posing was to neutralize me. Basically, she made nothing of it. She answered my questions very matter-of-factly. Had she been a man, likely this conversation would’ve turned into a full-fledged pissing contest.
The pissing contest, as it’s usually identified, is an argument or competitive conversation where there is no resolution. It’s arguing for the sake of arguing. Why don’t we just call it an “argument” then? Because the popular recognition is that it takes place between two men and the argument is, metaphorically, just a contest to see how far one can urinate. Why not a “spitting contest” or a “lifting contest”? Because urination, or pissing, on or in anything other than a commode is a characteristic often attributed to little boys. Therefor, a pissing contest would be a meaningless argument between boys. Or men acting like boys.
When I hopped back in the car where my lovely wife and Ellison were patiently waiting, I got some mocking from my lovely wife. She was probably wondering, “If I’m not on the market for an automobile, what on earth would I be taking five minutes to talk about with a sales rep?” I admitted to how I insisted on talking shop like I know everything there is to know about Hondas…kinda like I was trying to pull her into a “pissing contest.” Must be the isolation over the last couple of weeks. My lovely wife knows better to entertain me in such exertions. Maybe I thought I could find a sucka who would play along.
“Impossible,” she replied.
“What?” I ask.
“Women don’t get into those,” she proclaims.
And she was right. Women don’t get into pissing contests. It’s not in their nature. To get into stupid, meaningless and fickle arguments about trivial and otherwise unnecessary facts. Girls don’t care about that. Which is remarkable because the average girl uses about 20,000 words a day and that’s about 13,000 more than most boys. For boys to use only about 30% of the words that girls do and to use a portion of those words on a Honda lot trying to convince a sales rep that you know more about Hondas than she does, makes me think that the competitive nature in boys make them think they’re constantly being judged and scored which leads to circumstances like the pissing contest. The truth is that boys are no more or less judged than girls are, they just take that judgement as a challenge to their merit and value which thrusts them into unnecessary conversations or arguments.
Girls are cool because they’re reluctant participants in pissing contests. They got much better things to spend their 20,000 words on.