A Big Twuck
My goal was this: I wasn’t going to get ripped off. I would haggle with these people and make sure that I got the most truck for the least money and very, very little actual cash down. After all, I was shopping used not new and I had a decent trade-in that was completely paid off so my down payment was a silver ’97 SC2. If that meant I needed to drive around to 50 dealerships and break 49 salespeople’s hearts and shop for three weeks, by gum I was ready to do it.
I made sure to apologize in advance to Nikki since I knew she’d be with me the whole time but probably hating 95% of the experience.
Prototypes
Nik and I went to breakfast/lunch Saturday morning over the hill in the Bay Area. I had seen a black Chevy Silverado with low miles on it during my Internet shopping that was in my price range and wanted to check it out. The dealership was a 45 mile drive from our house, out over 580 to 680 North toward Sacramento. But there were plenty of places to look at in between so we went into Fuddrucker’s for an early lunch and I ordered the Kobe Beef Burger, a half pound slab of high quality ground beef that I felt reasonably comfortable ordering “Medium” and found it to be among the best hamburgers I’ve ever eaten. We ordered too many fries and stuffed ourselves before heading out for round two.
The first place we stopped was a large Ford dealership across from the hamburger place, not because I like Fords (hate ’em, actually) but because they were a big lot and I figured they might have a decent used selection. They didn’t and we did a full circuit around the place without being approached by a single salesperson. Normally I’d be delighted not to be bothered but in this case the lot was so large that I felt I might have missed a motherload of used trucks unless I was pointed in the right direction. After ten minutes of wandering in the hot August sun we decided they didn’t care enough for our business and left.
We stopped by a small GMC dealer just up the road and were greeted by what I began to form in my mind as the prototype car salesman: Rotund belly in a company-issue polo shirt tucked into an expansive belt and a ready cell phone in a quick-draw holster. His jowly face wobbled with mock sincerity as we poked around, this time wishing for the Ford treatment as he lurked uncomfortably nearby while I examined the ample selection.
“See anything you like?” he called.
“I don’t like these prices, that’s for sure,” I spat. None of the more than 15 trucks were listed for less than $22,000, even the older 2001 and 2002 models with obviously high mileage and crummy fuel economy.
“Well, shoot,” the anonymous salesman said with what I assumed was supposed to be relaxed courtesy but came out as an angsty whine, “the price is the easiest part! Do you like any of the trucks, though?”
I curled my lip and looked right at him, noting his large pupils and beaded sweat across his expansive brow. “Nope.”
We left.
As Nik and I drove to our next stop I complained to her that I hadn’t yet found anything I felt like I would really consider to be a purchase-worthy truck. I griped that I didn’t even need to find the truck I would buy, I just wanted to find something like a bellweather to compare everything else to. She was sympathetic but I could tell her patience was wearing a bit already, especially as I rattled on about “two or three dozen more” stops.
We drove past a Honda dealership that only sold used cars. I had Nik flip around and go back. We exited the car and standing right in front of me was a gorgeous dark green Toyota Tundra, a 2002 model with extended cab and bed liner. I walked over immediately and felt rather than saw the girthy, aged salesman sauntering up behind as I popped open the driver’s side door and leaned in to check the interior. Cloth seats, power everything, V8 with remarkably low miles for a four-year old car: Under 32,000.
“Can I drive it?” I asked. The salesman was older, probably pushing 60 and wearing the standard uniform. He took my driver’s license for a copy and came back a few moments later with the keys. He actually let Nik and I drive it alone, without his accompaniment and we took it down a few blocks and back around. I felt myself grinning and I drove. I loved it. The power accessories were a bit much but I could learn to live with it. It handled like a dream and had a remarkable feeling of power. Towing a boat? Yeah, I can do that. Moving a sofa? Sure, no sweat. Going camping? You better believe it.
Back at the dealership the guy told us the price: $18,995. Too high. Too high by about five grand. It was going to be a tough road to get him to peel his commission back that far so that I could get into the truck. He asked if I wanted to run some numbers. I paused for a second, considering. I still hadn’t seen the Silverado I found online. I declined, saying I had one other place to check and if it didn’t work out, I’d be back. I meant it this time.
We drove away and I felt a lot better. I’d found my bellweather.
The drive to see the Silverado at the distant Ford dealership was torturous. I kept returning my thoughts to the Tundra. How could I make it work? What could I say to get him to knock $5,000 off of a beautiful, loaded truck with surprisingly low miles? We had to call HB to look up directions to the dealership in the unfamiliar town since I had forgotten to do that at home. Too late to turn back now. HB’s instructions got us there with very little hassle.
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