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We've been shopping around for a new car for the BF. His car has well over 100K miles on it, and although it's been a great car and he's gotten more than his money's worth out of it, it's time to put it to rest. We spent a good chunk of last Saturday at a Nissan dealership. We both currently own Nissans and have been pleased with our cars up to this point.
The visit was mentally exhausting. I know it's cliche, but I hate dealing with car salesmen. You just know inside that no matter how good of a deal you think you're getting, they're the ones who are coming out ahead.
We initially were greeted by a young lackey, possibly a salesman in training. A heavyset twentysomething, baggy-pants type, he was fairly clueless and occasionally would have to refer to the car's specs taped to the rear window when we asked him a question. It was clear that he was there just to fetch cars, take you on a test drive and make sure you made it into an office. I groaned inside and thought it careless and less than professional of the dealership's management that they would have someone like him greet potential paying customers. Was he supposed to be hip, speak to a younger demographic? It wasn't working for me.
I asked him to leave us alone to give us some time to talk about what we saw. I personally thought the 6-cylinder we test-drove rode smoother than the 4 -- just not enough to justify several thousand dollars more on the sticker price. I also was mildly disappointed that it wasn't more quiet inside the car -- a 2003 -- as it drove. The BF was slightly concerned as well, but we both agreed that if they made us a great offer, then it would be worth it. We could be bought.
We ended up in an office, much to Lackey Boy's excitement. He started throwing out numbers, and we countered with some questions. Soon, he "had to run some numbers by" a co-worker and excused himself. Here we go, I thought. I sighed and told Stephen that we're about to find out how many managers will fit in this room.
Lackey Boy came back an eternity later with Salesman. (I mentally noted more unprofessionalism in letting us sit there for so long unattended.) He was several years older than Lackey Boy and at least wore a button-down shirt. We were working our way up the food chain. He spouted some numbers that did not sit well with us. And instead of answering our questions, he returned our questions with questions of his own. A grueling, pointless interrogation ensued. I said we weren't getting anywhere and firmly told him we weren't making any decisions until we had some answers. My God. It wasn't rocket science. We just wanted to know how much they were going to give us for our trade-in.
He and Lackey Boy excused themselves. While they were gone, Stephen and I joked that the room might be bugged. We laughed nervously. Although it had become clear after talking with Salesman that their selling price and our offer weren't going to jibe, we wanted to stick around to see where this went.
Lackey Boy and Salesman came back with The Professional. The Professional clearly had been in this business for a while and was there to seal deals. He looked like a poor man's Craig Kilborn but shorter and with horrible, spiky, highlighted hair. He wore a solid black button-down shirt that was buttoned to the top. (What was he thinking? That that looked good? His look alone was enough to end any deal with me.) The Professional took a seat at the desk while Salesman and Lackey Boy stood by and watched. He explained to us that a "coupon" we'd received in the mail and brought with us would be all they could come down on the price of the car. I protested and said I thought the coupon wasn't much of a coupon at all if it doesn't amount to anything more than what would be negotiated anyway.
I'd seen his type before when shopping for cars with my dad. He was the one who pretended to innocently admit, in a we're-the-victim sort of way, that "we are running a business here after all," and they had to turn some sort of profit. He was experienced at putting out fires.
He answered our questions. Unfortunately, we weren't budging on our offer, and he wasn't budging on his. He did put us in a better mood before we walked out, though.
We were both glad and relieved we didn’t drive away with a new car. We were also proud that we didn't let anything get away from us or let them pressure us into signing anything. Despite the stress, we got a handle on what we can afford and what we’ll get for our money. We’re going to try again this weekend.
Replies: 1 shoutout
good for you for standing up to the car weasels. make sure you get an offer on your trade-in IN WRITING before even beginning to discuss the price of the new car.
Posted by tiff @ 01/31/2003 08:38 PM EST