Do Not Ever Buy A Car With Four Children In Tow

Things that are difficult to do with four children. Part one………..

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Last week we got a new car. Well actually its more of a bus than a car. 7 seaters are ugly cars unless you have mega bucks to spend. We did not. Despite knowing since last year that we would need a 7 seater, we only got one last week. The new child was 6 weeks old and we were still unable to go out all together so really I was desperate, my requirements were downgraded down to it must have 7 seats and move. So the husband went out and bought one last weekend,it met my not so strict requirements and was ready to collect last Monday.


The morning was pretty stressful. Firstly the garage, in which the husband had bought the car, were not answering their phone and my insurance brokers systems were down so I spent three hours continuously ringing the garage with breaks to text the husband asking did he think the garage owner had run off to start a new life in the Caribbean with our money ( or on a day trip on a ferry since we didn’t have the mega bucks to spend). Eventually got sorted, garage owner had not left the country, garage still existed, insurance broker finally transferred my insurance, stress headache eased slightly and off we set to get our new car. Me and the four children.


Found the garage finally in the middle of an industrial estate off the motorway. Saw car. Little part of my soul crumpled up and died. Car was hideous. However we would all fit in it so I got over the fact that it was an ugly bus. Loaded all four kids out of car we were trading in. Walked into the garage, found owner, he dismissed me and told me he would be with me in a few minutes. Traipsed back out to the garage forecourt. The sun came out. Blinding hot sun on a concrete garage forecourt. Many “few minutes” passed. I was carrying the baby in the car seat and trying to keep the other three from running out in front of other cars. We waited. It got hotter. There was no shade. We got back into our old car. It was like a sauna, we got out again. I went back in. The man dismissed me again. It then dawned on me who the man looked and sounded like. Fran from Love/Hate. If you don’t watch it, Love Hate – it is an Irish crime/drama tv series. Fran is a junkie, criminal, madman. This is who the man resembled. I am not going to lie, the man kind of scared me slightly so I didn’t really want to start complaining about the delay. Well not to him anyway. So I started complaining to the husband,who was sitting in his air-conditioned office, as his family sweltered on a dodgy garage forecourt, via text. The text conversation went like this:

Me: Why have we bought a car from Fran from Love Hate?

Husband: Jaysus, that is who he looks like.

7 more texts from me about how rude the man was, how hot it was and other things the husband could do fuck all about. His response…

Talk to him about dogs. Fran likes dogs. Or gear. Talk about dogs and drugs to him.


Fran from Love Hate AKA Garage man

Fran from Love Hate AKA Garage man

The children were now quite red in the face and I could feel sweat running down my back. Another man appeared and started washing the wheels of the new car. I went over and told him it was grand, to leave it and that I just wanted to go.

Original garage man appeared and told me he could talk to me now. So we all followed him back in. He gave me a key. Took the key of my car and went to dismiss me again. I had some questions. He had no interest in talking to me. Clearly one of those types – I am man. I deal with other man when selling cars, bangs chest, type of man. I had no energy left to deal with this. I took the key, we all walked back out. Removed three car seats from old car. Tried to carry four car seats, one with baby in it and keep eye on three children in the sweltering heat across the garage. Kids helpfully tried to carry car seats. Dropped them. One of backs of one of the seats detached from the bottom part. I fought back tears.


The other man was still fiddling around washing the car. I again told him it was fine. He started mumbling something about maths. I looked on blankly. He repeated his mumblings about maths. I ignored him and started loading children and car seats into new car. He mentioned maths again. I came to conclusion this was garage slang for paying the balance for the car or something. He then came out carrying mats for the car. Obviously that made a lot more fucking sense. So I’m climbing around this new car/bus sweat pouring off me trying to fix seat and seatbelts and finally got the older children sorted. The baby started crying as a result my boobs started leaking. I am a soaking sweaty mess at this stage with ginormous wet patches over my boobs and just want to get out of this hell hole garage. I put the key in the ignition. Nothing happens. Nada. I can’t go back into rude man. I ring the husband, unsurprisingly, he is fuck all use to me. I go back into the rude gangster resembling garage man- the walking sweating example of why he doesn’t like to deal with women.

“Eh I cant get the car started” I say desperately trying to cover my milk soaked tshirt with my hands.

He rambles off a list of instructions about immobilisers, clicking key three-quarters, do the macerena and the car will start. I nod blankly and go back to car. Inside of car now resembles a furnace. I find a switch but all it does is make the wing mirrors move into a closed position. At this point I was willing to walk away. Man who I thought was obsessed with maths reappears , he shows me how to TURN MY OWN CAR ON. I am not even embarrassed, I have gone too far past that point. The car starts. The windows open and we leave garage. Not a drop of petrol in car. I call garage man many many names. The children learn many many new swear words. We drive around industrial estate in circles as I try to avoid motorway to find somewhere to get petrol. The kids helpfully point out “Mammy , look there’s the garage” “as I drive past the garage a third time.

” There it is again Mammy”

” Look Mammy there is the asshole man in the garage”

Garage man who resembles junkie gangster most likely shaking his head, his opinion that he should only deal with men when dealing cars, validated, the prick. I finally find a way out , we get petrol, we get ice cream, we get home in our new bus.

Worst two hours, so far, as a mother of four. Top tips- don’t buy cars from men who resemble dodgy fictional criminals and NEVER go and pick up a new car on a hot day with four children, it is no fun, no fun at all.