The National's Matt Berninger sold me new wheels

Ahh, the stress is finally peaking...

In my waking life, I'm starting to experience the dreaded VW electrical gremlins that inevitably plague older vehicles. After having my car in the shop for a couple of months (!) earlier this year to alleviate a problem with my alarm, my rear driver's side window suddenly stops working. Of course, this happens after I successfully let it down. Honestly, this is causing me little to no stress because, hey, I have no other monumentally stressful tasks to deal with at the moment.

In my dream life, I drive my car to the VW dealership which is more like a brightly-lit coffee house than repair shop. Berninger sits in the corner, at a desk absolutely covered with papers. On my entrance, he sees me and waves me over to his desk. He's timid and sleazy, in a used car salesman way. We quickly get to the business of repair talk.

"Sure, we can take care of the window," he assures me. "We'll have it up in no time."

I mention that I have no intention of sinking a ton of money into the repair because I'm going to trade it in very soon. I explain that the electrical problems are just too much, that I have neither the patience or the funds to continually make repairs.

After nodding his understanding, he asks "Well, what are you going to do about the wheels? You're missing a hub cap, huh? How long has that been gone?"

"About a year or two," I confess. "It's not that important to me."

"Well, nothing will up your resale value like a set of matching rims," he baits.

"Really?"

"Oh sure, it'll get you at least $500 more."

I agree to see what he has to offer me. First, he shows me some ultra shiny chrome wheels that would more likely belong on a superstar rapper's car than my humble Jetta. I decline and we continue to move down the list to the lower-tier options. Finally, I decide on a set of black rims that are exactly like the wheels currently on my car: basic wheels meant to be covered by a hub cap.

"Let me see what I can work out for you on the price," he tells me while escorting me to a conference room.

He excuses himself, returns to his desk, and begins vigorously working the phone. I'm watching him in his conversation. He's leaning back in the chair, phone held tightly to his face, gesturing wildly with his free hand. On his desk, a cigarette is burning in an amber ashtray full to overflowing with butts. When he sees me watching him from the conference room, he winks and gives me a thumbs up. Minutes later, he hangs up the phone and quickly walks back over to me.

"I worked a little magic for you," he says smiling. He pulls out a pen, writes a figure on a Post-It note, folds the paper, and pushes it across the table toward me. "This is our final number; it's the best we can do."

I open the paper and read it. "Four hundred and twenty-four dollars?," I ask.

"Installed," he replies.

"Deal," I proclaim as we shake hands.

Then, I ask him about their tour and the new album. I gush on and on about how I really dig what they're doing. I beg him to bring some Kentucky Gentleman to tonight's show at the Civic Center.

Next thing, I know, I'm awake and almost laughing. Matt Berninger from The National just sold me wheels for my car that are exactly like the ones I presently have.