A Big Twuck

When they got back they gave me the once-over again. By this time I was getting annoyed. I said for what felt like the hundredth time, “Look, give me your card and I’ll go check out this other lead. If it doesn’t work out I’ll come right back here and we’ll work something out.” It was starting to feel more and more like a lie each time I had to say it. The “But what abouts” and “What would it takes” kept flying and I said firmly, “Just get me your card.”

Salesdude paused, unsure how to handle such a right pain in the rear. His desire for me to buy the truck was clashing with his desire to kick me in the pants, I could tell. He sighed, “Okay, but I gotta go inside to get the card. Follow me.” Nik told me to go wait by our car and she’d get the card. Then we put the good-cop/bad-cop routine on them.

I pretended to fume outside. It wasn’t much of a stretch. Inside Nik waited patiently as Guido worked her over again for a few minutes and she finally came back out, bearing an expensive-looking four-color business card. “He says they’ll throw in the A/C for free.”

“Yeah?”

She smiled. “And I told them you were on the verge of walking away. That if they didn’t back off they’d be sure to never see us again.” I grinned back at her.

“Nice,” I said, more than a little in awe of my wife.

“Shall we see what they can do about that green one?” I only nodded and started the car.

The Last Place You Look

We were only a block from the Honda Used Car dealership when I noticed the Toyota place, nestled back off the main drag so it could be visible from the freeway. “What about there?” I asked, pointing. Nik groaned.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, “Am I driving you crazy?”

“I’m just tired,” she said. I could almost hear my words about dozens of dealerships echoing in her head. We had stopped by the library on the way out to check a copy of the Kelly Blue Book for 2002 Toyota Tundras. I had a scrap of paper the marvelously friendly librarian had given me to take notes listing the expected retail prices of that particular model. It had been a happy surprise: The listed values were much closer to my comfort level than the sticker price. I knew that with over ten collective hours of driving and testing and looking and dealing with high-pressure salespeople she was ready to be done with it.

“One more stop, I promise.”

She sighed and hung a U-turn. “Okay, one more.”

The prototype salesguy was named Jon. He hated me from the get-go. I wouldn’t answer his leading questions designed to push me toward the higher-priced vehicles. I told him he was charging too much for stuff I could find (and had seen) elsewhere. I wasn’t impressed much with his explanation that these were certified pre-owned (“Used,” I corrected him) vehicles and other dealerships couldn’t offer that level of service and satisfaction from having a trained technician do a 116 point inspection. “Still too high,” I said. He rolled his eyes.

I found her near the end of the row. Toyota Tundra, just like my bellweather I had been on the way to try and work a deal for. No extended cab, but no stupid electronic whiz-bangs that drove up the price. Automatic. No bed cheap bed liner (no liner at all, a minor annoyance). CD player with decent stock speakers. Cloth seats. V6. 2004, a full two years newer than the bellweather. Nice charcoal color. Tan interior, no plates. I test drove it and felt the grin spread back across my face. Being a non-extended cab, Jon went with me on the ride and Nik stayed behind. When I pulled up she smiled at me, luminous.

“That’s your truck,” she whispered. I just grinned and nodded.

The paperwork was a nightmare. I told them how much I wanted to spend, what I had to offer in down payment (my trade-in) and told them to make it happen. They came back with some ridiculous sum that included an extra $2,000 cash down payment. I laughed them out of the room. They offered me a higher monthly payment with no cash down. I laughed again and repeated what I wanted. They tried to get me to sign a commitment form that said if they got me what I wanted I would agree to buy. I told them to go jump, that I didn’t sign commitment papers and if they wanted me to buy it they’d better work a little harder on making their precious numbers work.

They sent in Paul, another prototype with a wicked burst blood vessel in his right eye that made him look like a bad boxer. He shook my hand limply and I disliked him immediately. He told me I had to work with him if I wanted to get anywhere. He tried to get me to sign commitments and I told him to go jump, and that if he dropped the price of the truck so that it would match my payment offer he could take my word that I’d make it happen. He seemed to take that as a verbal contract and Nikki rolled her eyes at us and laughed to herself.

I knew at the time that I had them in the palm of my hand. They wanted to sell the truck, we had great credit scores and I’d told them I’d been inches from going to another lot to see what they could do. If they let me walk, they’d never see me again. They wanted me as a customer very badly, but they wanted me to shut up and stop cutting into their profits, too. I decided to throw them a bone since we hadn’t brought the Saturn and they were making bids on it sight unseen. The Saturn was never going to see a used car lot I knew so it was auction bait all the way, but it was still something of an internal basket case no matter how well kept it appeared on the outside. I offered to throw in $500 cash down if they could make my lowball offer happen.

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