Car Buying 101

Well, I’m not getting a Tribeca. Friday morning, after getting the e-Check done on my car, I had an hour to waste before taking my little one to a makeup class at the Little Gym (a class he didn’t want to attend and that he ended up leaving early). I had planned on visiting a couple of furniture stores between the e-Check place and the Little Gym, but unfortunately, nothing was open. So, as I approached the Subaru dealership where I purchased my current car, I noticed they were open and decided to stop in.

We had seen an ad or a commercial or something about the 7-passenger Tribeca, and being quite satisfied with our current Outback, I thought it was worth considering. Apparently, some major traffic jam on 271 caused all the salespeople to come in late, so I waited around for ten minutes just wandering around the showroom, looking through the brochure, and playing with my son.

Finally, a salesman came in and made his way over to me. Now, I’ve been through the car-buying experience several times now, and I’m not saying I’m a pro, or necessarily very good at getting a great deal, but I do have a personal pet-peeve list about sales tactics. A few months after getting married, my husband and I went around looking to get a second vehicle. I was 22 years old, and probably looked younger, but I was looking to spend a decent amount of money (more than a cup of coffee or a meal). So I expect to be treated as, say, an adult, especially if I go unaccompanied by a parent. So when I went to the Nissan dealership and the salesman kept referring to me as a “kid”, yeah, I was kind of turned off. As we walked around the lot, he asked if I minded if he smoked. I admit, I did say no (even though, honestly, I did), but when we stepped into a car and I took it for a test drive, I really didn’t like the overwhelming smell of smoke permeating through the car. That really affected my impression of the car. In the end, we leased a Saturn from the “no haggle” dealership across the street from a guy named Jody who, although he laughed too much, treated us with respect.

So much of the car-buying experience is emotional. It is. You research the car, get the numbers, and order the Consumer Reports car report. You go in and negotiate, but really, the salesmen have the upper hand. They see people day in and day out, know which person is emotionally vested and which is not. They know how to pull your emotional strings and convince you, with “facts” and statistics, and some good acting, that you are really getting a good deal. I’m sure they have to go back to the finance manager “for that extra discount” not for approval, but to get the laughter out of their system before they get you to sign a contract that shows what a chump you are. In return, they offer you the emotional satisfaction of driving away in a pretty new car with the new car smell sprayed in, in the color you want, with the extra features you overpaid for. And month after month, as you sign check after check (or file statement after statement if you sign up for auto-pay) for your car, that emotional rush fades a little more, and you convince yourself as you drive your car just how much you love it and just how much it was worth how much you paid for it. And you are resolved that next time, you’re going to get a better deal.

So yes, I am shopping not only for a good car, but also for a good shopping experience. I’m dropping a good deal of money, and expect to come out of it without any bitterness toward the dealership where I purchase or lease my car. I don’t want that negative emotion accompanying me every time I look at my car.

So anyhow, the salesman at the Subaru dealership greeted me, and I told him I was interested in learning more about the Tribeca. Mind you, the salesperson who had sold us our last car, and had sold our friends their car shortly afterward (in a show of great customer service, since the sale occurred right around the time my friend went into labor) sent us a letter after this dealership underwent new ownership, stating she had left to go elsewhere. So I was talking to someone completely different, the first guy that happened to show up at work that day. And he proceeded to open up the brochure (that I had been looking through off and on for the past ten minutes) to the last page, and began to read off the colors in which I could get the car.

I’m not one to be rude. Really. I will not talk back to an elder (okay, except my parents, and I know I ought to cut back on that). And even on my worst days, even if I am horribly offended, I will recite what I ought to say, figure out the perfect words to convey my disappointment (or whatever) and end up leaving without saying a word.

I let him read (yes, read) about four colors (including obsidian, which he kindly translated as black for me, in case I couldn’t figure it out by the accompanying color swatch). He only had about three more to go, so I could have kept my mouth shut.

“Honestly,” I said, “the color is probably the least important thing to me right now.” Honestly, I’m kind of surprised I actually said anything. What’s happening to me? I mean, I still had about 40 minutes to waste; what’s the hurry?

His response? “Oh, you just want to take it for a drive.”

Again, wow. Has this guy been to a sales seminar ever?

“No, I’d just like to take a look to see if it’s a practical upgrade for me.”

Since it was a rainy day, and I had my kid with me, I really was in no mood to move a car seat in order to take the car for a spin. I figured I could look inside and get a good sense of whether three car seats would comfortably fit inside. So he pulled up a five passenger Tribeca. I’m pretty sure I had mentioned that I was looking at the seven passenger one, so he really wasn’t getting very many points on receptiveness at this point.

I looked inside, and he confirmed that it has no third row of seats. “Okay, can I look at a seven passenger one?”

We went back inside. I waited while he wandered outside to pull up the car (which turned out to have a dead battery). I waited for about five minutes or so, during which I was tempted to leave, but didn’t (having nowhere else to go). The guy at the front desk, a burly, friendly grey-haired man who had welcomed me initially, talked a little to my son. Finally, I said something.

“You know, you may want to mention to the salesman that he shouldn’t start off by reading off the color choices of the car.”

That’s it. I didn’t go into how insulted I was by it, not only by the assumption that that’s all I would be interested in, or that I couldn’t read that in the brochure by myself, but also by the fact that since he came after I had looked through the brochure for ten minutes, perhaps I might have already looked at that page (and was capable of reading it). I don’t know. Maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was less.

I talked to the receptionist guy about how I don’t know if it’s even a practical alternative to a minivan, something I mentioned to my salesman as we walked to the car. He mentioned that minivans don’t have all wheel drive (and asked me if I was familiar with the Subarus; I’m pretty sure I had already mentioned that I’m looking to upgrade from my Outback, but I mentioned it again anyhow). I let him know that a couple of the minivans actually have all wheel drive options (don’t know why I felt I needed to share that information with him, but it felt good). In any case, he was talking apples to my oranges.

I looked inside. It’s nice, but it would never work. To access the back row, the seats in the front row would have to fold down. With car seats, that’s not so easy to do. And having my five year old have to climb over the folded-down middle seat every day is just impractical. As it is, I feel bad that he’s going to probably have to sit in the far row.

He showed me the engine (by then, I really didn’t care. But I thought, sure, what the heck. Let’s just keep this experience alive. What else can he add to my blog entry (yes, as I lived it, I knew I would be sharing it, and that was my silver lining)? So it turns out that the Tribeca is built in the same plant as some Porshe, and in fact has a Boxer engine.

Under the hood, the Tribeca is a nice looking car. Inside, it’s decent. On the outside, I don’t know, it’s a little weird, but I could have gotten used to it. And later, when we’re out of car seats, maybe I would consider it (although by then, what’s the point? Make them sit next to each other in one row in the backseat of some sedan). But on a purely practical standpoint, the Tribeca is not a feasible alternative to a minivan.

And I have to say that, in the end, I am happy to know that I am capable of judging a car purely on its merits (or lack thereof) and not on the sales experience. But I’d be lying to say I’m not a little relieved that I won’t have to go back and deal with this guy again.