Car Dealerships Suck

Does anyone other than a masochist enjoy buying a car? Any survey of loathsome experiences would rank car buying just below root canal surgery, slightly above cleaning hair out of the shower drain. I have yet to hear an adult say “I need a new car,” without dread and trepidation in their voice. So they turn to me, their local automotive alpha, for advice on makes, models, prices and features. Until recently, all my knowledge couldn’t protect them from the dreaded car dealer. Here’s what they faced…

They walked into the dealership, inhaling that heady blend of fear, desperation, and volatile organic compounds. Depending on how they were dressed, they were either A) ignored until they tried to break into a locked vehicle or B) forced to sit in front of a sadist sales manager who had to know how, when, where and with whom they drove. And then it was time for a little one-on-one with a sales prevention officer.

There were a lot of ways this went wrong. There are car salesmen who will only speak to a female customer’s boyfriend or husband, or vice versa. Salesmen whose definition of product knowledge includes improvisation, science fiction and outright lies. And self-righteous sales associates who think it’s acceptable to treat their customers with condescension, contempt and disdain.

Occasionally, my car shopping friends encountered a good car salesperson: someone who didn’t smell like he was one missed payment from foreclosure. The salesman knew exactly what he was selling, handed them the keys, shut up and let them drive. That said, the chances of encountering one of these rare birds was about the same as finding an Ecuadorian Pale-Headed Brush Finch snacking on french fries under the Big Chicken in Marietta, Georgia.

I always told my acolytes and referrals: if you don’t know anything, neither a listener nor an inquisitor be. Later, when these advice insensitive car buyers realized they’d been talked into a piece of junk– my strong-willed sister’s adoption of a Suzuki Verona springs to mind– they only had themselves to blame. (As if.)

Anyway, once the test drive was over, the salesman sequestered them in the little room I call AHA (Abandon All Hope). After proffering false interest in their well-being (must get fives on that CSI survey), the salesman wrote numbers on disposable sheets. The potential customers were interrogated until they revealed exactly how much money they were willing to “invest” per month on a new car, and whether or not they were willing to transfer Junior into Community College to cover any shortfall.

Ludicrous words were spoken. “This car won’t be here tomorrow,” and “This is a one-time deal only.” As deep-vein thrombosis set in, the salesman invoked the specter of cold-hearted sales managers and their own bare-footed children. The next thing they knew, my charges were either driving away in their old car, relieved at having escaped the lion’s den, or signing a sheaf of papers they were too tired to read. Either way, their underwear was in their pocket.

If they didn’t buy the car, they winced inwardly, knowing they had to lather, rinse and repeat until they encountered a salesman desperate enough not to stiff them.

Is it any wonder so many people I sent to dealerships threw in the towel and bought something, anything, just to stop the madness? Most consumers simply don’t have the time or stamina to physically explore their options. The salespeople know this. And once customers are on their turf, the dealer’s designate controls the tempo of battle. And prevails.

After a particularly gruesome negotiation session at one of Atlanta’s more notorious VW dealers, I saw the light. I surfed the Internet and requested price quotes online. A quick responder offered me invoice on my chosen mount. We negotiated back and forth over e-mail. A couple of days later, I walked away with the car I wanted for a fair price. I didn’t have to reveal my husband’s favorite sport or miss another episode of South Park. Bliss.

I realized that the $500 under invoice, no haggle, test drive, sign and go deal was the future.

So now, when friends and family ask me about a new car, I hit the net. I do 95% of the work for them: surfing for the right spec., price and dealer, and then showing them how to cut the deal before they darken the dealer’s door for the make-or-break test drive.

Clearly, the car sales paradigm is shifting. By the time I’m done with them, “my” people know exactly what they want and how to get it. Equally important, they know precisely what they don’t want: to waste their time battling with pushy, obnoxious salesmen. If car buyers can cut the traditional salesman out of the loop, why wouldn’t they? Thanks to me and I’m guessing you, now, they do.