This isn’t really about having a new car – it’s more about buying one, and the ways people approach it. We (my wife and I) tend to be spontaneous buyers. You’ve seen them in car commercials. We walk into the dealership thinking solidly in our minds that “we’re just starting to look”. It ends up with a hurried cleaning out of the glovebox and the trunk, checking under the seats for anything there because the new car will be ready in an hour. On two occasions we’ve picked up our daughter someplace in a new car she didn’t recognize. The last incident happened at our niece’s wedding in Pennsylvania. And here’s how it happened.
My wife took her car into the dealership to have the heater fixed two days before we were due to leave. This is always potentially dangerous. She traded in a car before when I was away because the radiator hose blew out. The car had “let her down”, and like contestants on Survivor, was immediately voted off the island. So in this particular case, I got a phone call at school. “Bad news about the car – it has a leaking gasket and . . . .” I don’t recall the rest of it, but it would require significant repairs. Knowing how her mind worked, I asked what she’d seen in the showroom. The response came back, “well, I did see one I liked, and it’s white – my favorite!” How coincidental. Again knowing the thought process, I asked when we were picking it up. And there it was, spilling out, “I’m so glad you agree because tomorrow afternoon at three.” So my “maiden voyage” in this vehicle was an eight-hour trip to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, the tractor-trailer capital of the Northeast, by the way, in pouring rain. Just the way you want to find out how to turn on the wipers, and I didn’t find the switch for the rear ones until we were crossing the Hudson River.
My father was an engineer who sold industrial processing equipment, so when he bought a car, there was a considerable bit of negotiation. My mother used to say, “Your father is going into sales mode – I need to leave.” He’d go through the sticker item-by-item. “The dealer prep – I don’t pay that. What do you mean you fill the gas tank? For $600? I can do that for $15. [That was a while ago.] Oh, you clean the car too? And tune up the engine so it’s running properly? Aren’t those all a given when I buy the car?” He also didn’t pay “delivery charges” on the assumption that the dealer could darned well get the car from Detroit to New Hampshire, and he certainly wasn’t taking responsibility. I’ve always admired him for that. I could never negotiate well when buying a new car. If the salesperson told me the price, I pretty much went with it. Now, with all the info and the apps that tell you what to pay, it’s quite different. I also break into a cold sweat when we go in to see the “business manager” even though I know my credit’s fine. I hate it when he or she talks about the “extended warranties” and the extras services that we could add like their “preferred customer” program, their free coffee in the waiting room, or the service manager’s home phone in case we want to get together. I don’t need or want any of that – I just want to go home. But, no – we need a tour of the new car. Remember when that was “here are the light switches”, here’s the windshield wiper lever. Put the key in here and turn clockwise.” That was it. Now, it’s like flight training. On the White Stag, the salesman ran through the basics, programmed the phone, and connected us to the International Space Station. An hour later, we pulled out of the dealership feeling a bit uneasy that anything I pushed would catapult us into Ridiculous Speed. Susan is to this day convinced that cruise control is the Devil’s Handmaid and that it’s going to project us headlong into that large box truck ahead of us.
My in-laws have a different approach to car buying. Some might call it thoughtful and responsible. Others might consider it obsessive. They had mentioned recently that their car lease was up in the fall, so they’d started looking. My nephew is very much like the man in that commercial that has a wall with pictures and charts and pushpins, muttering “Now I know the car, so where to buy.” He then shifts to another wall of charts with color codes and strings, when in wanders his wife and says casually, “maybe I can help.” My nephew researches the manufacturers and models for months, going through years of consumer reports, digests data on pricing, options, colors, has the FBI vet the dealerships. He’s staring at “thorough” in the rear view mirror. So our assumption was that his parents would follow something similar. There would be informational meetings, interviews with potential sales people, financial reports on the dealership, customer surveys, and a good four months of anxiety and agonizing. But no, lo and behold, a new car picture flashed in a new text over the weekend. How did this happen? It appears, now as the details emerge like the Mueller report, (and I’ve only seen the redacted version) they had been looking, were contacted by their former dealership, and worked a deal with another one. So, on the road again . . . . . . Because they lease cars, they tend to change them like most of us change sweaters.
The interesting thing about these two is that they fully require all of the latest technological advances in the automotive world. They like the cockpit displays, the back-up cameras, the power ashtrays, NASA – approved sunroof, the heated floor mats, and the ultraviolet reflecting headrests. No basic car for them. My sister-in-law, who often lacks filters, remarked once, when the four of us were on a trip in the aforementioned 3 O’clock White Stag, that she couldn’t believe we didn’t have back-up cameras. At the time, the car was four or five years old, so the total vehicle surveillance package wasn’t standard equipment at the time. We’re forced, like peasants, to use the mirrors or turn our heads so see when backing up. Actually, I do. My wife doesn’t back up – she has a firm policy about that. We’ve also, and get this, never had heated seats. I know what you’re thinking. We might as well be riding in a covered wagon. However, this car runs well, spends most of its time in the garage, has low mileage, and meets our needs. Its last oil change was almost a year ago, so it will be around a while unless we win the lottery.
We aren’t really “update” people. It took us years and our daughter’s tech support to access Netflix. I don’t use most of what’s on my phone. The coffee shop app, the navigation when I’m going someplace. It’s mostly for phone calls, and not even those because I forget to take it with me half the time. Going out, I’ll hear the call from the living room, “Have you got your phone?” My car, which I did consider trading before I retired, is therefore quite old. In fact, it’s so old it has a compact disc player, which I use all the time. I know, I know. But my old dear seldom goes farther than Walmart or the supermarket. On reflection, it didn’t seem to be worth the investment in a new one, and after twelve years, we know and respect each other. My mechanic down the street tells me it’s a solid little car that should last a while longer, so I put off and put off. (It’s possible he’s telling me that because for him, it’s steady stream of income.) The driver door swings open with wild abandon because the restrain hasn’t worked in years. The wind took it a long time ago, and it’s never recovered. The clock appears when the spirit so moves it, which isn’t often. When it periodically comes on, it’s almost like having a ghostly presence with me. A snow plow at school left a side wound many years ago. But with all its age and infirmities, it still gets me where I want to go efficiently and without protest. If I need help backing up, I’ll get a drone. If I need a warm butt in the winter, I’ll stay home or use a heating pad. We make accommodations in life, and those will be mine. I can get one of the “new car” deodorizers. Although, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go out and just take a look . . . . . .
I'm Thinking...No! 