There are a lot of people who actually enjoy this process. Alas, I am not one of them.
Last weekend, I girded my loins and headed out to shop for a new mode of transportation. The plan was to turn over the keys to my current car to my kid. And, because misery loves company (and he's a good schmoozer), I took the lad with me to help me manage the sales pitch.
Which backfired. More on that later.
We entered the Toyota showroom and waited for one of the birds of prey to begin circling. We didn't have to wait long. I almost felt sorry for the young man who approached us. He looked twitchy and uncomfortable in his role. But, bless his heart, he worked it the best he could. I explained the car was for me, and that my son would be getting the current vehicle.
He proceeded to show us the Corolla, the only car in my price range that Toyota ever wants to sell me. I asked to see the Yaris, which is low man on the totem pole in the showroom. He showed me one they used as a loaner but said they didn't have any for sale on the lot, so I was discouraged from buying one. He also offered up the Scion, which I discovered they are trying to get rid of because they're not making them anymore.
Mr. Salesman then trundled off to crunch some numbers to compare the Scion and Corolla purchase price and monthly payments. It took him about 15 minutes. I'm not sure why, because he came back with a handwritten list that was probably copied over from something they have in the back office. There were no extra offers, just the manufacturer's current perks and a reduction for the amount I intended to put down.
He asked if I wanted to test drive the Scion. Sure, why not.
He couldn't find the keys. None of his cohorts could find the keys. After about five minutes of Keystone Cops, it was determined someone else was test driving the car.
I was tired and discouraged. I told the salesman I had to be somewhere soon, and could I please take the numbers with me. He said he had to xerox them first. We waited while, out of nowhere swooped another bird of prey, introducing himself as our salesman's father.
"How's he doing?" I was asked. I didn't realize I'd have to complete a performance appraisal. I murmured his son was doing just fine. Then he committed the cardinal sin, the one thing guaranteed to send me running for the door.
He started selling to my kid.
He assumed. Having ascertained my son recently graduated from college, he said there was a rebate for that. Also, special financing. He learned where my son went to high school and asked him if he knew Sam Schlabotnick. My son murmured yes, he did. Mr. Salesman Senior then went on to tell him he could ask Sam to tell him what a great salesperson he was.
This is why I'm not allowed to carry a gun.
Mr. Salesman Senior, getting desperate and obviously not understanding my increasing annoyance, ramped it up some more. He started talking to me about restaurants near the campus of my son's former college. I said, yes, I'd been to them both, and yes, they were fine eating establishments, as I grabbed the sheet of numbers from his son and edged my way toward the door.
Over his shoulder, I could hear Junior asking for my kid's phone number. A couple of "have a nice days" later, we finally made our escape.
I went home and did the Consumer Reports thing on the cars I had seen. (Yes, yes, I know I should have done that first.) Reluctantly, I had to admit, the Corolla was the best car for the money. Which is why it is Toyota's bread and butter.
Two days later I went online and made an appointment at a different Toyota dealership. I got a woman salesperson. Good move. She was professional and mature. Not too chatty. Not smarmy at all. She knew her stuff.
The funny thing was, she sliced the numbers in a completely different manner, but the monthly payment came out about the same as the first place I'd shopped.
No matter how comfortable I may have felt with the salesperson, when I finally emerged after signing all the paperwork, I still had the uncomfortable sensation of being eviscerated.
To top off the whole wonderful experience, I received an email from the dealership where I finally purchased the car saying, essentially, could I please shit or get off the pot and let them know if I was interested in buying a car from them or not because they wanted to update their records.
My response wasn't snarky at all. For me.
P.S. Just picked up my new car...all is forgiven!
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