A little past the Driftwood, just after leaving the main gate of Camp Lejuene and crossing the New River into Jacksonville, there is a car dealership, one of many throughout the town. And it’s not just highway 24 that is full of dealerships, I think you would be hard pressed to find a street in Jacksonville that didn’t have some sort of dealership or used car lot on it. The industry of selling automobiles seems to be major economic sector of the local economy and one that occupies many a store front and strip mall throughout the city limits and beyond. Many marines fresh out of boot camp or straight off of a deployment and flush with cash venture out to these dealerships to purchase a new automobile and these dealers in turn sell them whatever vehicle they want because they know if the marine cannot make the payment, they can go to their chain of command and get their pay docked or the vehicle repossessed. And so Jacksonville’s streets are filled with new automobiles driven by chutsters with fresh high and tights for the ladies.

Our correspondent, feeling embarrassed as of late about his 1996 Nissan Maxima, decided to brave the elements one pleasant spring day recently and went to a local dealership with the intention of buying a car. Here is what transpired…

On a bright and sunny day, with nostrils full of pollen, I drove up to the Volkswagen dealer on Highway 17 on the north eastern outskirts of Jacksonville. Ever since my time abroad on the continent when I visited Volkswagen headquarters in Wolfsburg, I have dreamt of owning a VW of my own. So, even though I knew this was going to be an experiment in investigative journalism, my desire to purchase a new volkswagen was no mere fabrication of my imagination. However, at this juncture in my life, I am in no position to purchase a new automobile and for this article, I feigned my interest for the employees of the dealership.

I parked my car and began to inspect the cars, and was soon met by a tall, slender, middle aged African-American named Mike who gave me a hearty handshake and asked me what sort of car I would be interested in. After hearing that I was looking for a small economic and efficient car, he directed my attention to a used, 2007 Volkswagen Rabbit that was parked on the grass in front of the main entrance to the dealer. He asked me if I would be interested in test driving and I said I would. He excused himself and escaped into the dealership offices to get the keys and left me to admire the fine German engineering.

However, instead of Mike returning with the keys, it was instead a young lady named Nikki who appeared to be in her early thirties and the mother of at least one or two children. She unlocked the car and told me I could sit down in the drivers seat and she began her pitch. Nikki was quite helpful and knew about all the little gizmos and gadgets that those Germans come up with that I would never thought up at all. Like a glove box that can double as a ice chest and seat warmers so my butt can sweat even more during the mild North Carolina summers.

I then took the car out on the road, and drove it for about a mile down Highway 17 in the direction of New Bern and then at the behest of Nikki, I turned it back around and went back to the dealer. Unlike my current ride, the VW accelerated quickly and did not feel like it was about to fall apart into a wild inferno of speed and flashing light. When we arrived back to the dealership, Nikki began to move in for the kill and began to suggest that we needed to get down to in their parlance, “making the car mine.” I suggested that she give me her business card and that I would come back tomorrow with a decision about the car. She told me to hold on a minute and brought Mike back out and he knocked 500 dollars off the asking price they had on the poster hanging in the car. I said I still needed to sleep on it and wanted another day to think about it. He told me that if I needed some more time to think about it, I should do it with the car and I should take it home for the night to drive it around and get used to it and “make it my own.” This did not seem to be an unreasonable request, the VW being far better than my current form of vehicular conveyance, and so I acquiesced to his request and took the car home for the evening on the condition that I bring it back tomorrow afternoon.

I immediately took the car through all sorts of twisty turny back rods in the vicinity of Swansboro and Hubert and had a huge grin on my face the whole time I was driving. However, after playing the Stooges first album through three times and stopping for a oreo blizzard at Dairy Queen, I suddenly panicked and realized that I did not have a comprehensive insurance policy for my current car and I was unsure who would be liable if I got into an accident in this car. I also realized that I really didn’t need a car and had no real desire to continue having this one until the next day. So I took the car back to the dealership and tried to give it back to them. This time I was greeted by the General Manager who assured my that their insurance policy covered the vehicle and he really wanted me to have it until tomorrow, when he was certain I was going to buy it. He also wanted to know what my hesitations were and I informed him I was a cautious individual and did not want to jump into a decision that I might possibly regret and merely wanted another day to consider it. He asked me if the price was holding me back, and said it was a little, and he knocked another 1000 off the price of the car, bringing it from 16,500 originally down to 15,000. We talked for a little while longer and I was able to get him to go down another 1000 dollars to 14,000. I said I would consider this as I went home and crunched the numbers.

By this time I had nearly fallen prey to their salesmanship and was beginning to think that I really did want that car. So, I went home and actually crunched the numbers. I discovered that I could purchase the car for his asking price and also discovered the going Kelly blue book rate for the car and discovered that if I ran a hard bargain and remained steadfast and stern, I could most likely get them to go down even further in price. But purchasing this car would prevent me from being able to make a trip to Europe or New Zealand in the near future and I decided that I would much rather have a trip to Europe than a new car.

It was with much sadness that I returned the car and gave up my phat ride for the day. I remained steadfast in refusing to reconsider my decision and explained to them that at this current juncture of my life I was just unable to make such a large purchase. Nikki seemed sad as I walked away she looked as if she was about to cry, unable to comprehend how I could say no after she had done everything in her saleslady powers to convince me to buy the automobile. Her boss didn’t look to happy either, I think she might have got fired, she had confided to me the previous day that she hadn’t sold a car yet.

After thinking they were going to pull some sly tactics and double cross me and rip me off, the car buying experience in Jacksonville turned out to be no different than it would have been anywhere else. If one goes in armed with facts and knowledge and does not allowed his emotions to be swayed by the tactics of the salespeople, you are in no more danger than you would be in any other part of the country. Perhaps the dealers get a bad rap here because young marines who are stupid and think they can afford something they can’t make bad decisions when purchasing a brand new Ford Mustang. But if you are firm and smart, you can get yourself a reasonable deal here and can be helped by some pretty honest and fair people. Now, I can’t say that about everyone, but the people at National Volkswagen in Jacksonville treated me fair and honestly and did not appear to be trying to take advantage of because of my employer. So, I’m not quite sure why buying a car here in Jacksonville is made out to be such a horrific ordeal.

When I consider America and its culture and contributions to the world, I like to think about those things that are quintessentially American. You really can’t get more American than baseball, McDonalds, big cars, light beer, Chuck Taylor’s, peanut butter, blue jeans and freedom. However, there is one place that is so quintessentially American that you would be hard pressed to find something like it in another country, the all you can eat buffet. Classy Jacksonville, an all American city, has its own all you can eat buffet, Golden Corral, which lies smack dead in the center of all that is classy Jacksonville, near the intersection of Highway 17 and Western Boulevard. Golden Corral is a true American experience, and one that is not to be missed by those who are interested in the true classy Jacksonville.

After passing Radio the Jacksonville Ninja at the corner of 17 and Western, and almost getting sideswiped by a new Ford Mustang running a red light, you pull into the parking lot of Golden Corral after having contended with payday traffic at Wal-Mart. The exterior décor of Golden Corral looks like that of a single story ranch house, the type most Americans aspire to own one day. Going through the entrance there is a sort of cattle corral guiding the herd of dinners up to the register where they receive their drinks and plates and pay for the all you can eat experience. After paying at the register, you are released into a dinning room that appears like a cafeteria, but which is truly an egalitarian experience. The tables are set close to each other, allowing you to easily talk to your fellow man and experience all sorts of cultures you would not normally see.

The food is also set out like a cafeteria, wilting under heat lamps and with spoons or ladles allowing you take as much or as little as you would like of the food. The food is about what one would expect, neither spectacular nor repulsive. There were a few things I was disappointed with, such as the pulled pork which tasted like gelatinous fat doused in ketchup, and the dinner rolls which tasted like doughy air balls smothered in hydrogenated vegetable oils. However, the candied yams were quite delicious and the pot roast was edible. However the piece de resistance was the bread pudding, which was truly a divinely inspired creation, heaps of white bread covered with copious amounts of sugar.

About halfway through the meal I began to feel uncontrollably nauseous. I noticed that most of the dinners had a minimum weight of 230 pounds, that beyond going for seconds, they got up for thirds and fourths of food before loading their plate up with sweets from the dessert bar. But what really did it for me was when I saw a large woman wearing bright pink shorts that showed far too much leg and a skin tight t-shirt that was adorned with sparkles and sequins walking through the restaurant. My appetite suddenly disappeared and I was about to get up and storm away. I then later saw a man wearing a stained white wife beater and a baseball cap out from which a long braided piece of hair was descending all the way down to his buttocks. And there were the obese small children, and seniors counting out medication on their tables. By the end of the meal, the nausea was too much, and I ran out of there as fast as I possibly could.

In terms of calorie to dollar ratio at a restaurant, no other place in Classy Jacksonville can measure up to Golden Corral. And for a truly voyeuristic journey into American culture and ambience, no other place can compare to the Golden Corral. However, I wouldn’t recommend going there more than once. But if you do go, you will still feel full more than 16 hours later.

One of the great things about marines is that for some reason they have been endowed with a fantastic sense of style and a desire to maintain a clean and neat appearance. This has lead to marines being expected to have a fresh haircut at least once every week and most tend to get their hair cut in the ever so suave style of the “high and tight.” Since there are so many marines looking to get a classy look for the Jacksonville nights, Classy Jacksonville offers many options for the discerning individual looking to get his hair and sense of dignity butchered off his head every Sunday.

Jacksonville is littered with Barbershops nestled in between the used car lots, dry cleaners and furniture stores, fast food restaurants and gentleman’s clubs. Most are little more than a little shed with a sign saying Barber Shop, but some also occupy store fronts in run down strip malls. Most offer roughly the same thing, a quickly done haircut usually missing a spot or two of hair, or disregarding the instructions of the person getting the hair cut who asked for a low fade and instead is given a high fade. Most charge between $7 and $10 and seem to have a pretty brisk business.

To say that all barbershops here in Classy Jacksonville are the same would do a great disservice to a town that probably has the most barbershops per capita of any city in the world. For example, New Legends occupies a strip mall next to a tattoo parlor and a boot repair shop on Highway 24. Upon entering you can’t help but notice the life size poster of Al Pacino from the film Scarface hung next to a framed portrait of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. BET will be playing on the television and on the coffee table in front of plush leather couches will be a wide assortment of black gentleman’s magazines for those who are waiting to get a haircut. The haircuts are what you would expect to get in Classy Jacksonville, but the ambiance more than makes up for it.

Another barbershop, the one I currently frequent the most, is called Pro Kutz (with a K and Z because it’s just that fucking Xtreme) is located next to Arby’s and Gruntz. The outside is adorned with marine corps flags, but don’t be scared because they do a mighty fine low fade and every tenth haircut is free. Inside there is a pool table and a big screen TV, an assortment of black gentleman’s magazines and all sorts of marine corps insignia to let you know who they market to.

Altogether, getting a haircut is a weekly ordeal in classy Jacksonville. Every first sergeant in the marine corps is convinced that hair cannot be cut on any other day besides Sunday and that it needs to happen once a week, even though regulations plainly state that it needs to happen no more than once per pay period. Barber shops are filled on sunday, and Classy Jacksonville, true to form, has found another market to exploit and is doing fantastic at it.