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Buying a brand new car is such a stressful event. If you are like me, you tend to add even more stress to the situation by expecting everything to go wrong: they won’t accept our deal; we’ll pay more than we should; the financing will fall through. I am what you might call a pessimist, so it is good that my wife is the complete opposite. It creates a balanced relationship. But I have come to realize that when purchasing any vehicle from a dealership, there is one thing you can count on; you will always get screwed one way or another. I came upon this determination after my first new car experience, and I will always have that in my pocket of learning from my own stupidity.
I had never owned a brand new car before. At 24 years old, I was married with a few kids, and the wife and I decided we could no longer drive the van that was ridden with electrical problems and expect a safe ride every time. So that being agreed upon, we trucked down to the closest dealership south of our hometown. Since we were only a few miles from the Capital Region, we figured we would get less screwed by driving half an hour in the opposite direction, because small towns have better deals. I no longer accept this as the case, mind you. Of course, sure as shit, not five seconds after we set foot onto the lot, a snot-nosed, green as can be salesman “politely” interrupts us with a few fast facts about the brand new Dodge Durango we happen to be standing in front of.
On the ride down, my wife and I decided that an SUV was the way to go. While the mini van suited our needs, neither of us would be caught dead driving one, so the decision was easy. Besides, with a gallon of gas going for $1.61, which was high for then, we knew we could manage owning a gas hog. After standing in front of the new Durango, we were both impressed with its new look. Sure the Hemi engine would cause a little more hurt at the pump, but to cruise down in that every day would makes us forget about it. The only problem was, Mr. Greenshoes could see the excitement in our eyes, too.
We tried to contain our new found love, and asked to see a few other styles of automobiles on the lot. We weren’t fooling him, though, which leads me to think now that he wasn’t as new and innocent as he looked. He was very conscious of what was going on, and kept comparing everything to the Durango, putting it up on a pedestal, feeding our desire. After a few minutes of test driving it, it was ours, at least in my mind. Joe, the kind, sleazy salesman, went to get the papers as I sat down, tasting my first bite of fear. I hate paperwork, especially the kind that runs credit checks. I had good credit, we both did, that wasn’t it. It’s the fact that one little piece of paper is the end all be all of what says you can or can’t have something you want that turns my stomach.
We filled out the paperwork with anxiety. This was the first time I was making a commitment to such a large monthly payment, other than signing for our mortgage. For the next four years, this money would be taken from us so we could drive around in splendor. And splendid, it was. Leather seats, rear DVD entertainment system, the high end stereo system with the add-on speakers, 6-disc CD/MP3 player, sunroof, Hemi engine, all wheel drive, four wheel drive; this thing was loaded to the nine. I did not opt for the chrome package, to my regret, but I was psyched. Before I signed my name, I wanted to ask some questions, and here is where I wish I could turn back the clock.
They were running a special “Smart-Buy” financing program that year, smart being the operative word. After listening to how this program is much better than leasing, and so much better than out right purchasing the damn thing, I was more confused. I could feel the panic attack starting, and my wife sensed it, grabbing my hand at my side. I asked, “So how is this not like a lease, then?” “Oh, it’s much better, you own the title.” Now I do know I am not a moron, but for some reason, sitting there absorbing Joe’s web of lies, things for some reason made sense.
We signed, submitted the paperwork, and drove our new ride home. I tucked the paperwork away, hoping to never look at it again. Wrong again. After about a week of feeling like a badass driving this thing around town, the dashboard light kept coming on deactivating the driver side air bag. We brought it into the dealer, which conveniently told us the light was not on. After five more times of this happening, we finally got it to the service center and proved we are not crazy. They ran the tests with the light on, figured they solved the problem, and sent us on our way. Two more times down there, we started to get pissed. We were taking the car on a road trip to Florida in two months, and we wanted this fixed or else. I started arguing with the dealer, who basically told me it was my problem now. I screamed about lemon laws, arbitration, and the fact that I was forking over a lot of month each month to drive the 1998 Plymouth Voyager they kept lending us. I pulled out the paperwork and found not only my rights as an angry consumer, but the boatload of things my buddy Joe didn’t feel like disclosing.
After finding out that the payments we were making were only half the cost of the vehicle, a huge balloon payment was waiting for us at the end, the price financed was six thousand more than the sticker price, and we would be charged for fifteen cents per mile over my allotted stipend each year, I was even more pissed. I wasn’t even told about a mileage barrier. Had I known a little more about contract law then, I would have known the right questions to ask. I was stuck with this deal, a car that continued to malfunction, and it made me sick to my stomach. I knew I was being a pessimist for a reason.
Well, we lost the arbitration trying to get the car lemoned, and we took it to Florida. In fact, we still have the vehicle today. I still love it, although my wife is ready to slam it into a tree. The air bag light was magically fixed the fourth attempt, and never came back on, that is until a few months ago. Joe coincidentally left the car sales business and went back to working in some auto shop. Lucky for him, cause I was ready to kill the kid. I did walk away from it with a lesson, though. I will never be screwed by another car dealer again. If I say it over and over, I might believe it.
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Instead, I got screwed over too.
My salesman must have thought he won the lottery when I walked in: young, dumb, and ready to sign!!