DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

Having just read about the dirty tricks played upon unsuspecting shoppers by car salesmen, I figured the best way to test my newfound bargaining muscles would be to go out and buy a car.

We picked a 2004 VW Jetta GLS Wagon, 1.8 liter Turbo, leather seats, sport package, and “Electronic Stabilization” system. I researched pricing online, both at CarsDirect.com and Edmunds.com. I used the CarsDirect site to request bids from two dealerships. To my surprise, one of them wrote back within a few hours, with an amazing price — below the Edmunds.com “invoice” price, well below the “True Market Value” price, and within a few hundred dollars of the CarsDirect price.

Then we geared up for a dealer visit, to a different nearby lot.

I dressed for sympathy. I wanted to look like a guy without much money (not a stretch)… a sort of “needs financing” look. My hair looked like it hadn’t been cut since November. And my wife put on a shirt that, I swear, made her look about seven months pregnant.

To fully play the slimy-salesman game, we needed to find a slimy salesman. They’re all slimy, I figured. This turned out not to be the case. We were approached by a guy who later admitted he’d only been selling cars for three weeks. He wore the requisite tie, but no flashy jewelry. In fact, despite the tie, I think he’d more successfully conveyed the message “needs financing” than I did.

This dealership didn’t have the car we sought, but we test-drove a similar model and then went inside to work up some numbers. Our junior salesman had no office, so we weren’t put “into the box.” Rather, we sat at a little negotiating table at a quiet end of the showroom. The table had one rigid cafeteria-style chair, which I took because it was closest, and three upholstered chairs that looked a lot more comfortable (had I been paying attention). It immediately became apparent that I’d sat in the power seat, for once the salesman sunk into one of the other chairs I was a foot taller. The salesman leaned forward to make his pitch, but was dismayed to find that the table came up to his sternum.

He had no idea what our Jetta would cost, or maybe that’s part of the game, so he left in search of a sales manager. I recognized this ploy, so I waited three seconds and followed him. I caught up at the other end of the room, where he’d climbed onto an area with a raised floor where two mean-looking unshaven guys sat at terminals working up price quotes. My salesman was leaned over the desk muttering things about our car, or about us. I rustled some paper to prevent overhearing something that they’d be embarassed about, and I got a look from the seated man that made my contacts frost over. He asked “can I help you?” but his tight face and the daggers shooting from his eyes more clearly sent the mesage “stepping onto my podium just cost you 20%.”

I felt like I’d drawn blood, so even if I really had just blown my deal I was going to enjoy it. I put on a big smile, a whole-face sort of smile. I beamed at him. And with what I hoped was an innocent and somewhat clueless tone (again, not a stretch), I replied enthusiastically “I’d like to buy a car.”

His armor pierced, he gave up any pretense. He shook his head slightly in angry disbelief and said, in a voice that nearly cracked, “And who are you?!” Wheee!

I pointed at the document in his hand, which noted my Jetta and options and name and address, and said with another big smile, “That’s me!” I radiated car-buying happiness. I was practically glowing.

The guy at the desk sent a cold stare at my salesman, who actually took a step backward when it hit him. He was wounded. I’d just earned him an enemy, which was not the effect I was going for. I offered apologetically, “I just figured I’d save you guys a lot of back-and-forth…” and I waved my hand limply in a side-to-side motion while my voice trailed off. My salesman looked sheepish and led me off the dais, which by today probably has a gate with a lock on it.

(Read part II)