Each Sunday afternoon I’ve been making an effort to drive a few cars. Mr. G. and I both need new cars and it’s easiest to do all the shopping at once. Given the traffic on our freeways it also makes the most sense to do the test drives on Sundays. I’d like to see the car go from zero to sixty, not sixteen.
I found a couple of cars I really liked, but sadly the dealership will only service my cars, not sell them to me. The sales manager wanted to get my husband in, “for a few hours.” His face dropped as I explained to him that my husband would, “come in for twenty minutes, drive a car and pick the options. I’ll be the one to give you the grind while we talk about money factors, residual values and add ons.”
Before I was married I sold cars. I never went a day without selling a car, even in the pouring rain, even if it was just a mini*. I was consistently delighting the owner because I talked to everyone like they mattered, and everyone liked me. I didn’t even care for the cars I sold, they were just rubber and metal to me.
I don’t like the man I met yesterday.
*you sell a car for the minimum and make $500 just to keep the volume up