MAY I BUY AN “R” PLEASE?

This post is a little off topic, but not completely.  Since it doesn’t fit comfortably within the Three Rs of Cancer, I think I may borrow a 4^th R for the moment- Rage. 

A few weeks ago, my husband began looking for a smaller car.  We had downsized from a house to a condo and his large pickup truck really wasn’t necessary or practical.  A Jeep seemed to be the answer – Fun, small, Fun, easy to park, and lots of Fun.  We found the perfect one at a dealership in Daytona Beach.  Then the hassling began.  I should mention here that I keep my cars for 6-7 years, on average, mostly because I despise the ritual dance that accompanies a car purchase.  I find a car I like and just upgrade it when it runs out of every warranty I can buy.  My husband, on the other hand loves the dance and the drama. 

Well, we found the car – the salesman was actually nice and the atmosphere in the dealership seemed downright pleasant.  I couldn’t find anything to dislike.   For the next week, I dealt with the ups, downs, and nasty sideways of my most recent treatment and my husband dealt with car salesmen.  I think I got the better of the deal.

Okay, cut to the chase.  On Wednesday, he came home and told me he had bought his Jeep.  I assumed the original salesman had finally agreed to a price my husband could deal with.  No, it was another dealership completely – a local one – and a very young, new salesman.  Seems they didn’t have the exact one he wanted so they ordered it from another lot.  It was to arrive that afternoon and would be ready for him to pick up in the morning.  I was a little surprised that he had changed to another dealer, but I’m all in favor of shopping at local businesses.  We waited through the morning – no call. Finally the phone rang – the car had only just arrived so it wouldn’t be ready until late afternoon.  By 4:30 PM, when we still hadn’t heard anything, we called and were told that it had been ready for a while.  Seems the salesman had gotten busy and forgotten to call us. “He’s new, you know!”  At that point, we decided to wait until morning to pick it up. 

We arrived, opened the door to the Jeep with the smiling salesman standing by and said “Wrong Car!”  The salesman, who was, at most, fifteen with the absolute worst Lord Fauntleroy haircut, promptly said, “Did I mention I’m new – what’s wrong!”  We began to list the problems: all the connectivity items were missing from the steering wheel and dashboard – Bluetooth, compass, temperature, radio controls, leather wrapping, chrome and leather gear shift, etc.  As we mentioned each one, he said, “We can add that!”  “We can add that!”  “We can add that!”  Unless this Jeep came as an erector set, that seemed pretty far-fetched.  That may have been where the chemo kicked in.

Now a manager appeared, then another one – I excused myself to phone the original salesman in Daytona.  I explained where we were and why and asked if he had any intention of ever meeting the price that this dealership had agreed to.  If he did, we would drive up there and buy the car we liked.  If he didn’t, just tell me now!  He said to come up. 

While this was going on, more people were gathering around the car.  I discovered that they were in possession of the Title to my husband’s pickup truck and requested it back.  They kept asking that I come inside – I refused.  I know that “inside” is Salesman-Speak for stalling.  “I’ll stay right here – please get our Title.”  Off goes my husband into the den of thieves.  He comes out without the Title, but with yet another manager and a print-out promising an even better Jeep with more “stuff” at the same price – because of their error. “Where is our Title?”

 “But you can have this better Jeep – don’t you want it?”

“Where is our Title?” This was beginning to sound like a bad movie script.  The Chemo began spurting on everyone!  Now the owner of the dealership was outside with most of his staff – facing little old hairless me, wearing my baseball cap saying “Made in Ireland” with 8 stray hairs sticking out of the front.  He was trying to tell me that, in his 12 years of ownership, he had never had an experience like this.  He was So-o-o-o sorry.  The salesman had made a lot of errors, but he’s new, you know. Again I asked “Where is our Title?”  He looked like he didn’t have a clue what was going on. 

“Okay, I have asked four times for the Title to our truck.  I am on chemotherapy drugs...” I began hearing murmured sympathy from a few. “NO, don’t you dare offer your sympathy; I’ve been through this 4 times already.  I’m trying to explain why I don’t have one iota of patience for rude people and sleazy practices.  This entire operation is crap.”  (By the way, that was the only 4 letter word I used – my chemo-brain form of Tourette’s must be improving! We’ll discuss that another time.) “You are all poster-children for the stereotypical rude, pushy car salesman.  This is by far the most unprofessional, slimy, den of thieves I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re leaving now to see if the other dealership will sell us the RIGHT car for the same price.  You over there, with the BETTER car – hold onto that paper because we may be back.  If we have to come back, you’ll be ordering that one this afternoon.   Now, if I don’t have our Title in the next 30 seconds, I’m calling 911.”  It miraculously appeared!

On the way to the other dealership, the salesman from there called to see if we had had any trouble.  I related our “escape” in detail and told him about the promised Better car with more “stuff.”  “So,” I said, “if you people don’t make this deal, and we have to go back there, someone’s going to get hurt!” 

We were treated like royalty when we arrived.  The car purchase took under an hour and we left feeling happy and cheerful – like you should after purchasing a new car! 

The story should end there – “and they drove off into the sunset in their new Jeep.”  But there’s more.  There were 5 calls from the first dealership on my answering machine when we got home – no messages, just calls. The next morning, my husband graciously called them and told one of the managers (who couldn’t find the salesman – he’s new, you know) that we had purchased a car and would he please tell the salesman.  The manager apologized again and said he would relay the message.  Three hours later, the salesman called.  He apologized for all his errors and said, “So, are you still in the market for a new Jeep?”   Do these people not communicate at all???

The final note to this saga was an e-mail I received this morning from the owner of the dealership.  Remember, he was also on the steps during my drug-induced but undeniably warranted tirade.  It was a Thank You for purchasing a Jeep from him and for allowing them to be our “dealership of choice.”  He still doesn’t have a clue! 

My husband has the Jeep he wanted and I haven’t felt this good in months.  Every time we think about it, we laugh out loud.  Obviously venting – under appropriate circumstances – is very therapeutic!!

SURVIVAL  TIP  FOR  TODAY:   RIDE  A  BIKE!