This past Saturday, we bought a new car. We didn't really need to, as our present car is only eight years old, low-mileage, has been regularly dealer-maintained, gets excellent gas mileage (it's a hybrid), and is in good mechanical condition, but we figured that we'd have to replace it eventually and, the market for used cars being what it is, we'd never get a better deal on the trade-in than now.
We went to the dealership where we bought our current chariot, where we've always been well treated and where I enjoy the support of Paul, the world's best and most honest service advisor. We knew exactly what we wanted and - of course - the dealership had not a single vehicle in stock that we were interested in. Not to be deterred, the energetic salesman spent all afternoon running back and forth to negotiate with other dealers and, finally, found exactly what we wanted (not in a color we'd have wanted, but by that point, the color was the least of our worries). The price was high, but within the range we were willing to negotiate around, and so we began the traditional automotive kabuki dance of "let me see what I can do," "let me take this to my manager," "let me see if my manager will go with this," etc, etc.
Finally, after much to-ing, fro-ing, and agonizing, the salesman came back with a proposed final deal, which shot my already too high blood pressure through the roof.
The base price of the car was what we'd agreed to and, of course, the usual range of suspicious fees and charges one has come to expect on a new car had been tacked on. So far, so good. But then came the unexpected financial sucker punch: a new, nearly $7,000 charge listed simply as "market adjustment."
If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I have a very jaundiced view of the capitalist market economy, which tends to be great for business and the wealthy and pretty yucky for the average working (or, in my case, retired) guy. I looked at the salesman and, in my best and most diplomatic negotiating style, pleasantly asked "What the &^#$! is this??"
"Oh," he replied, "I'm sorry if I didn't explain that well enough" (actually, he hadn't even mentioned it before). He launched into a long explanation full of boilerplate words about market forces and supply and demand and the relationship between the prices of new and used cars and the height of the tides in Nova Scotia in mid-April and blah, blah, blah ... which essentially boiled down to "you want the car, we have the car, we can add whatever charges we want."
Agnes pulled me down from the ceiling, and we prepared to walk out and enjoy the service of our trusty existing car for another few years. The salesman, seeing what had been a near-sure sale evaporating before his eyes, turned the page in his manual and executed the next phase of the negotiation: "What will it take for you to buy this car today?"
"Take off the 'market adjustment'," we replied.
"Let me talk to my manager," he answered.
And so began the next act of the kabuki dance, as the salesman repeated the to-and-fro discussions with the man behind the curtain. The result was, as we expected, that they would would not drop the "market adjustment" entirely, but wanted to know how much of that amount we'd be willing to accept. Given that they were going to hold fast to getting something, we said "$1000." The salesman gulped and hightailed it back to the manager. After some time, he returned and asked if we would settle for $1,599 ... an amount which, he implied, would result in his children going without adequate food and clothing. After some discussion, we agreed that we could grudgingly live with it.
And so began the next round of the kabuki dance - the credit check and financing discussions. Our credit is excellent, our debts modest, and our income, although not oligarchal, is comfortable, so we weren't particularly worried about any of that, especially since we were bringing a very desirable trade-in and a substantial down payment to the table. Nevertheless, the dance had to be danced, and we waited for hours as figures were laboriously typed into computers, endless forms were generated, expensive additional coverages and services were presented and declined, and a million wet and electronic signatures were applied.
And so it is that, after an agonizing five and a half hours of debate and negotiation, we now own ... almost ... a new car. It should be delivered either this coming Thursday or the following Tuesday, depending on transit time and the provision of the services supposedly covered by all those "destination fees" and "dealer preparation" and "CEO's yacht fund" charges we had to agree to. We will enjoy it and hope that it will provide the same level of reliability and comfort our old car did.
But I'm still pissed off over the whole idea of a market adjustment, which is what we used to call extortion.
Have a good day. Drive carefully ... I don't want any scratches in my new car once it gets here.
More thoughts coming.
Bilbo
.jpg)
.jpg)