The Humbling Struggle of a Young Car Shopper

Filed under Random

It’d be real tough to say that I’ve had bad luck with cars…in fact, it would be wildly untrue. I retired my family’s 1986 Toyota Tercel in the spring of 2004 and upgraded to a 1994 Honda Accord. The Accord has been damn good, but the time has come, once again, for a new car. An actual new car.

I’m not great with change. If I could drive the Accord for the rest of my life I’d be satisfied with that. I know how it handles. I know it well. But cars get old, and car parts get old. Moving forward, I will try not to state the obvious like that last sentence. That sentence came across like a patronizing mechanic, which I’m not. And to make amends, all I can say is that at least I won’t feed you some bull explanation and overcharge you (#AmIRight?). Where was I? Oh right, my Honda Accord is awesome, but I am ready to put some miles on a new ride.

And so we find our twenty-something hero gathering Consumer Reports and browsing car lots, seeking a sub-compact and yearning for breath-taking mileage. Does he demand American muscle? Not really. Does he insist on something chicks will dig? Well, only if chicks dig affordability, reliability and safe-handling during difficult weather.

Car dealers, behold! I’ve done my homework! I have a budget! Honda, Hyundai, Nissan, and Subaru, you are on my list! I’m ready for test drives! I am prepared to hear your greatest pitch!

Sadly, the world of dealerships is not as eager to see me in a new car. In fact, they’re kind of indifferent. Possibly even callous. It’s been terribly humbling. Sure, the few times I shopped around with my father went well. We were a shrewd business team…we knew our numbers, we asked the right questions, we were probably damn close to having our own series on the History Channel or A&E. Every car guy we met wanted to be “our” car guy.

Well, I learned the hard way, we were not a shrewd business team. In fact, my father was the shrewd, well-read business team that salesmen sought business from. I just sort of existed, which continues to be the case as I stumble through this world, ignored by the sales staff time and again. They do not see a buyer. They saw my father as a buyer. With me, they see a kid in a hoodie, or on occasion a kid who dressed business casual and is trying too hard to get noticed, who does not look at all smart enough to be a self-made internet kajillionaire looking for a fully-loaded ride, ready to pull out all the stops. No, he is browsing for ultra-practicality. Will he spring for the spoiler? Can he be sold on leather interior? No. They can already tell that pin-striping will be a hard sell. I am unworthy of their time. No commission will be had here.

Which is why countless man hours on my part have been wasted. I’ve waited around dealerships, sporting my best “I’m very interested in this car” look. I’ve been sent into the lot to look at the particular car where a salesmen will supposedly meet me, only so I could eventually walk back inside and remind them I exist. I’ve gone so far as to shamelessly jingle change in my pocket. I’ve been passed off from the obviously better salesmen to supposed “best salesmen,” who are obviously newbies. But hell, generally I’m just ecstatic to be acknowledged, because there’s only so long I can admire a car’s looks and read the brochure information.

That said, car salesmen everywhere, I implore you to judge me not by the hoodie I wear and my frugal, middle-class looks, but on the potential I have to be a well-read customer, possibly prepared to buy the sub-compact vehicle you have to offer. Join my journey. Join my struggle. Guide me in my decision.

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