Insomniac Musings

I’m not sure what has me up at this time of night. I work in six and a half hours…

I think I’m still reeling over my harsh lesson in car sales this afternoon.

I’ve had my heart set on a brand new Toyota Tacoma since my freshman year in college. That was in my five year plan, to graduate with a fiance, a job, and a brand new from the factory Tacoma. Black, originally, but the dream is flexible.

It’s not really a matter of if, but one of when and where. When is still soon, but where will not be our local dealer, that’s for damn sure.

It’s not like I expect special treatment, extra care and patience, coddling, from salesmen because I’m a mechanically-challenged female. In fact, I expect to be taken for a fool. That’s why I’ve insisted my husband be involved in the search. But when I come to you, not on a whim, but deliberately, after research and investigation, and then when I come back to you, ready and willing to buy, and I get treated like I’m a complete moron, I’m really not okay with that.

Really? You want to hide rebates from me? You want to wear me down with rewriting credit apps three times? You want to choose what ugly accessories to put on the truck, hide them from your website pricing, and then expect me to pay for them? You want to insult my intelligence by claiming I’m not smart enough to do interest calculations on a basic calculator? Open your damn eyes when you talk to me. For goodness sake, don’t try and haggle with me when you just said you don’t know anything about selling cars. And don’t you dare lie to me to push me over the edge.

With the internet, car dealing is closer to the law of one price and less about first degree price discrimination (I do have a business degree, thank you). I know what it costs. I know that’s what everyone is stickering it at. I know what it costs to build that from the factory and ship it in.

As a firm believer in free and open markets, I vote with my money. And my money says it’s worth it to drive to Tulsa, to Joplin, to Wichita or Norman or Enid, to find a decent salesman who is smarter than the average bear, motivated to sell, and with a little more finesse than ‘So which extended warranty do you want?’

Part of me says The Plan is indicating a holding pattern. If they don’t want to sell, if low-balling a couple decent kids who just want a good deal is their deal, if my credit isn’t good enough for a legitimate discussion, The Plan isn’t ready. When the time is right, the right truck will come along, at a good price, and without the feeling of being six years old again.

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