I have purchased new cars before and every time it's the same cycle of doom:
I look online and daydream.
I look online at my bank account and cry.
I look online at slightly less expensive cars and swear that my daily non-fat caramel mocha is costing me the difference between a brand new vehicle and a 5 year older vehicle with 7 million miles and a dead cat in the truck (ad says sold as-is!!!)
I self negotiate to one mocha a week.
I disagree with myself and decide to cut out food instead, I'll get my calories from chocolate like any other red blooded American, damn it..
This continues on until I get off the interwebs and walk into a car dealer to see for myself the best that 4 wheels can offer me. Here is where your REAL doom begins...
Car Salesmen. Sent from hell because they bug the crap out of the devil. I've written a handy pocket guide that gives you all the information you may need in your next car buying adventure.
"Mr. Shiny Shoes":
Generally wearing a trench coat, bad cologne, big moist (shudder) lips, uses big words when smaller words will do and says words like "gratifying" "nimble" "lubricated" and other words that make you want to vomit on the "supple" interior.
His choice victim? 40-50 year old women who are desperate for compliments and attention that their husbands aren't giving them.
Cryptonite? Lesbians. Can break 'em.
"The young buck"
Has. no. effing. clue.
This kid got his license 3 days ago but pretends to know exactly what you need and makes shit up as he goes. Caught saying phases like "it's motor trend is in peak condition".
His choice victim? Girls. All of them. No discrimination. He just wants to become a man before his first commission check clears. Likely not gonna happen until that acne clears.
Cryptonite? Any one who has done ANY research online or knows more about a car than can reasonably be obtained from actually driving one.
"The manager"
Usually used in the phase "I have to get that approved through my manager". Here is where the good cop/bad cop comes into play. You offer, the salesman pats you on the shoulder like you are old sorority sisters, looks into your eyes and says "Oh heck yes, I see you in this vehicle tonight! You'll look like a mix between Farrah Faucett, Lucy Lui, Ginnifer Goodwin and The Progressive girl, Flo! I see nothing wrong with offering 20 thousand dollars below sticker price! You want me to pay for it? Sure! We're buddies! Pals! Hombres! Can I braid your hair? I just have to get that approved through my manager..." Cue: the suit. Actually it's not even a suit. It's pleated pants that make it look like his junk is protected by 4 rolls of toilet paper. Seriously guys? Ever heard of boxer briefs? I digress. He comes at you like a spider money while your best buddy sits there looking like he was just whipped by Micheal Vick.
What is that illness that kidnapped kids get where they feel all sorry for the kidnapper and now have sympathy for them? Stolkholm Syndrome! You now feel remorse for playing hardball with the sales guy. Look at him sitting there all sad, not being able to do a god damned thing while his jerkwad of a "manager" is laying out in terrible upside down drawings of how he's not going to make any money in the deal and oh my god if I have to hear the word "recession" one more time...! Poor guy.
You now have two options. Walk away and blame it on the recession or buy the damn car and cut down you non-fat caramel mocha to only 10 a week.
Le. sigh.
