O for Obfuscate

Referring to Webster’s New World College Dictionary once again, the literal definition of Obfuscate is: 1. to  cloud over; obscure; make dark or unclear  2. to muddle; confuse; bewilder.

Isn’t this what we all go through in life?  Different phases of life we encounter?  If you haven’t experienced this, well, lucky you!

I remember the first time I signed a contract.  Ah, so long ago!  I was buying a car and had been warned to “read the fine print” before I signed.  I was so eager to sign and assert my independence as a young and “legal” adult!  Now, I am a good reader, adept at grasping what I read rather easily.  But…well, what could harm me in a contract with Jerry’s Used Car Dealership?  I quickly perused the contract, mentally went over my meager budget in my head, confirmed I was making the deal that would put me on the road with no pain and extreme freedom with my very own car!  And I signed.  (Been there—done that?)

Six or so months down the road, I got a better paying job and saved some money so I could just pay off the balance of the car and be done with monthly payments.  I had realized that the interest I was paying was almost as much as three or more payments so I wanted to be shed of the obligation.  I proudly walked into Jerry’s Used Car Dealership, money in hand, and announced I was going to pay off the balance.  “Jerry,” or whoever, sat behind the paper littered desk, smiled his salesman smile and rummaged around through papers, then turned to a file cabinet, rummaged through it, and after about 15 minutes let out a big “AHA!” and took my money. 

“Jerry” counted my money, played with his desktop 10-key adding machine, counted my money again, then looked up at me and said with no smile, “You’re short.”

I felt my mouth drop open as I, also without a smile, said,  “No.  It’s all there.  I figured it up.  That’s how much I owe you.”

His eyes never left mine as he said, “There’s the balloon payment for pay off.”  I was in a state of obfuscation.  My head felt like a balloon that was about to burst.  “What are you talking about?” I demanded, now totally bereft of the confidence I had worn upon entering the trailer that was his office on the car lot.

“Ballon Payment!  The contract you signed.  Here it is.  Written right here!”  And he shoved a mussed up, finger and grease stained contract at me.  His pudgy finger went right to the offending lines of writing without hesitating.

I choked out the words, “May I see that?” as I reached for the contract and he thrust it toward me.  I slowly read the paragraph he had so gleefully pointed out.  Yep.  I was short.  But in my embarrassment and humiliation at the situation I was in due to my own ignorance, I countered with, “Is this even LEGAL?”

His response?  “Sure is, missy.  And you signed the contract right here..” he pointed to my signature (also grease stained), “and then you drove off the lot in the car you agreed to pay for in full.”

What could I say?  I reached for the money I had given him but he held on tightly to the cash.  “You sure you don’t want to bring back the rest and I’ll just keep this for you until you get back, Little Lady?”

Looking at “Jerry”, donut crumbs in his mustache, smug smile on his face as he held my money in his tight little fist, I began to see colors, and red was predominant.  I said through tight lips, “I don’t think so mister.  Give me my money back.”

“Jerry” wasn’t going to let the money go that easily, however.  “Well, how about I write you a receipt for what you’ve given me and we can just put it on the balance?”  I looked at dirty “Jerry” in his creaking, equally greasy and dirty chair.  Heard the chair groan as he leaned back, still clutching my money.  Saw the coffee pot that was so filthy you couldn’t tell if it actually had coffee in it.  Saw “Jerry’s” tie that was loosened at the neck with stains on it.  Write me a receipt?  Would it have a little something extra thrown in if I agreed?  Like a carrying charge?  Or processing fee?

I shook my head no as I leaned across the desk and grabbed my money out of his little fist.  His face registered shock but he quickly put his phony smile back on and said, “Will you be back this afternoon to go ahead and pay off the car?”

Again I shook my head no and headed toward the door to exit.  “Always read the fine print, girlie,” he called after me, and then laughed.  I stopped and turned to face him as I said with a smile, “Oh, I will!  You can bet on that!  You're a great teacher, mister!  I will never forget you or the lesson I learned today!”  His smile was gone.  So was mine.

I had truly learned the meaning of the word obfuscate.  I have hated that word ever since I learned it through practical experience.  It brings back sharp feelings of embarrassment, humiliation, degrading anguish at my playing the fool.  It stings—even today.  I do not use the word and work to NOT obfuscate any issue or precept I bring up with others, even in casual conversation.  There is no “fine print” in my words.  My truth is obfuscate is a mean word denoting mean actions and undermining truth.  But I learned the word.  I understand it.  I felt the word.  Please do not attempt to obfuscate when you propose an action or decision—or contract!

Geez!  I do hate that word!

Side note:  An uncle took my laboriously saved money to “Jerry” the following day, read the contract, used “Jerry’s” adding machine, and pointed out “Jerry” had calculated the balloon payment incorrectly and saved me $30.00.  Three months following this, pink slip in hand, I watched the tow truck haul off my first car.  My uncle sold me his second car, with no balloon payment.  I drove it five years.  Thanks “Jerry.”  Lesson learned.