Please Come Along for the ride

THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN FOR MEDIUM’S CROWS FEET.

From the photo, you can guess how this tale ends. Buying a car is like making sausage. The product looks good, but you don’t want to see the rest of the story.

However, this is a fun ride. Come on along. By the way, I played the silent chorus in this four-act drama.

Act I: Homework

“You need to take a man with you. Those car dealers in Omaha are slick and they will take advantage of you,” said a well-meaning septuagenarian banker to Rebecca 15 years ago when she told him about her quest to purchase a new red Mazda3 sedan.

Of course, she didn’t take a man. Instead, she did her homework and went into the dealership prepared to negotiate. When she drove into the lot in a muffler-challenged Ford Pinto, another older guy offered, in a friendly, patronizing voice, “Oh, I see you brought us a hot rod.”

Three hours later, the younger male salesperson commended her, saying, “You did your homework, so I have no problem with this deal that works out for both of us. Too many people come in unprepared. You didn’t.”

Yesterday, she traded in her beloved Mazda3 with 116,000 miles for the Mazda CX-50 Hybrid you see in the photo. Two weeks of preparation had led her to a bottom line of $28,000, including the trade-in.

Act II: The Car

On the hour drive to the dealership, Rebecca summarized her thinking: “I want a Hybrid and I’m ready to give up the stick shift. I’m 73 and want one less thing to think about while driving. The CX is larger and safer, and the reviews are generally positive. Let’s see how this goes.”

The day before, Rebecca had called and set up a 9:00 a.m. appointment. Mason met us as we walked through the door. He led us to his cubicle and asked if we wanted to take the car around the block. To our left was a service counter, and right, two display cars, a ping pong table, cornhole board and bean bags, waiting area with coffee machines and a bowl of apples, and four or five desks, all with customers. It was a busy Saturday morning.

It looked like all the salespeople were young men, with the lone exception of an older man who was missing his left hand and deftly used it to balance his phone. In a glassed-in corner office, a young woman sat across from a couple, with paperwork strewn across her desk. I assumed she was the business manager.

Mason handed Rebecca the key and walked us outside to introduce the car. These days, auto dashboards resemble the Star Trek Enterprise. Our Scotty gave us just enough information to feel comfortable.

Behind the wheel, Rebecca took us for a fifteen-minute ride. She was particularly interested in noise level and the feel of the steering. Was it tight or loose?

Act III: The Negotiation

As the late sportscaster Keith Jackson used to say after witnessing a great play, “Oh, Nellie.”

Ninety minutes later, I realized I had witnessed a master at work.

After the test drive, Rebecca and I sat in the car for twenty minutes. Mason, wise beyond his years, left us to our own devices, which we used to Google various questions and discuss what we had experienced.

The two main criteria, noise and steering feel, clearly got passing grades. I asked Rebecca what she thought about the car’s visibility, my number one criterion when I purchased my Subaru Forester. “Not quite as good as your car, but much better than the Mazda3.”

As we settled across from our newest, young friend, Rebecca had decided on three things: she liked the car, $28,000 was her bottom line, and she wanted the weekend to think it over.

She and Mason talked over the purchase details, interspersed with personal anecdotes. He seemed comfortable with a couple who could be his grandparents. Not all young people are. This was his second year selling cars, and Tom, his supervisor, “used to sit at this desk.”

When Rebecca and Mason hit that $28,000 wall, he said Let me run this by Tom. I thought about William Macy as Jerry Lundegaard in Fargo, chatting with his manager. We know how that turned out. But movies aren’t real life.

Tom introduced himself and put a piece of paper in front of Rebecca. He was an older, more forceful character than Mason. At first, I didn’t like him. It turns out Rebecca didn’t either. Both of us would change our minds.

The last line on the sheet was $30,000, with a $5,000 trade-in. Rebecca studied the offer and said, “I need $8000 for my 3.” Tom replied, “I can’t give you $8000, the software tells me it won’t work, we won’t be able to get more than $7200 on the lot.”

He continued, “Let me ask you this. Could I persuade you to buy the car today? If I can, maybe we can move the numbers closer to where you want them.”

If the bottom line is $28,000, I’ll pay cash today.

Rebecca had been saving for a new car for many years—she knows cash opens doors.

“Let me run some different numbers,” said Tom, and continued, “I love your little stick-shift car. We want that car on our lot.”

He came back with $28,500. “Good enough,” said Rebecca, as she extended her hand.

Act IV: The Denouement

When she finalized the purchase in the business manager’s office, Rebecca declined all the extended warranties offered by Sam, who now sat in the chair.

Mason, Tom, Sam, and Rebecca. While each acknowledged me, their eyes always focused on her. There was no outward sign of what was typical one generation ago, that it was the man who was in charge.

I’m guessing Rebecca’s granddaughters will find this circumstance the norm in their future big-ticket purchases.

As for their partners, they might enjoy simply being along for the ride while watching a master at work.