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    Location: Colorado, United States

    35-year-old mother of two, wife of one, instructor at a university and free-lance writer, editor, researcher. I promise, I'm more fascinating than this "about me" and my favorites.

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Thursday, July 29, 2004

Four more ... months

When I got home on Tuesday night, I felt like I needed a shower or some other form of decontamination. We went looking and test driving cars, and even went as far as the, "OK, you tell us what our trade-in is worth."

I almost don't mind (read: I really hate it) the whole haggle/bargain process of buying a car. I'm just confused why we can't just go in and know that we're getting the best price possible when looking at vehicle. And I'm so groomed and jaded by the whole car-buying experience, that I don't believe those "one price" offers. I figure there is no way I'm getting the best possible deal on a car if I don't have to fight for it.

Back to Tuesday. We found a Yukon that we liked (somehow I went from holding out for a hybrid to test driving a guzzler). Then we actually had to go searching for a salesman -- that should have been the first sign this is a place we don't really want to deal with. While I  don't like that feeling of being prey to the salesmen vultures when you walk onto a lot, c'mon, someone should acknowledge us after we've been there for 20 minutes! The next sign that maybe this wasn't the car for us: the gas tank was empty so we had to go put gas into it. The salesguy put in $5, which wasn't even enough to turn off the low-fuel light. Scary.

We drove around, loved the car as I love to drive any new car, or look and dream about any new house. (The grass is always greener...) And back to the cube to find out how much they would give me for trade in. This is where I start to feel violated. I guess I am a car person and my cars kinda become babies to me. (Hmm, could it be because I've named almost every one of them? First there was Max, then an unnamed car that I never really loved, then Reba, Frankie, Elvis and now George.)  To have these vultures looking at George, driving George and then telling me George is worth about $5K less than I thought. Hell, they might as well tell me that my daughters were ugly. (OK, I woulda clocked them if they said a word about the girls!)

From that point it went something like this: Friendly potential customer (me) says, "No way" and shoots friendly, goofy salesman a dirty, are-you-out-of-your-mind look. Friendly, goofy salesman gets mean and starts pointing out all the reasons why the car ain't worth what I think it is (hail damage? that's like calling one or two pimples acne! new tires? they're just gently worn). Husband and wife walk away. Mean, nasty salesman sarcastically says, "Thanks for coming in." Ugh.

After that, I think George will be staying with us -- maybe not for another term, but at least through the winter.


posted by Laura at 6:16 AM |

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