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Hartselle Enquirer

Exactly what is the profile?

By Staff
Leada DeVaney, Editor
For about the last two months, I've been hearing inklings that Greg really wanted a motorcycle, a Harley-Davidson to be exact.
The inklings came in the form of "Hey, I really want a Harley-Davidson," or some such subtle thing.
At first, I tried ignoring the whole topic, and then started laughing it off.
I attempted bribery (wouldn't you rather has a new TV? Four wheeler? Lots of new socks?). As a last ditch effort, I even got Greg's mother involved.
"You are not driving a motorcyle," she quickly told him.
It didn't work.
His mind is made up and recently, that inkling has become a roar.
So, finally, last Saturday, we went to a Harley-Davidson dealer so he could look at what they had to offer.
The moment you walked in the door, you could sense the testosterone. This wasn't a pink and frilly type store that offered you a hard candy at the cash register. This was a black leather, silver studded, chrome plated world and we weren't sure where to turn.
The salesman quickly came up and offered to show us around.
"So, you're looking for a bike? Is it for you?" he asked Greg, who nodded in agreement.
"You fit the profile," the salesman replied.
Greg just smiled.
I was left wondering what it meant to be marrying someone who fits the Harley profile, which apparently includes those who see no problem spending $995.95 on one chrome nine spoke cast wheel for a motorcycle.
The salesman then began spouting off words I had not heard before, apparently speaking Harley-ese.
Greg paid rapt attention. My eyes glossed over and I started thinking about shoe shopping.
Just as I was about to fall asleep, a loud bell rang.
"What was that?" I replied with a jump.
"Someone else just joined the Harley family," the salesman replied.
Family? There's a family involved in this purchase? Do I have to buy them Christmas presents, too? I guess I could get them some of that Harley-Davidson underwear they have hanging over there…
By this point, Greg was sitting atop a white motorcycle. I can't tell you much more than that, other than it was big, shiny and had lots of silver on it.
He then moved on to a red motorcycle and he and the salesman began discussing extended warranties, service plans and windshields.
"And what about you," the salesman said, turning his attention to me. "There's plenty of room on the back of this one."
"Oh, no," I replied. "I won't be riding it. I don't fit the profile."