My only car salesman story is from the Summer of the Crashes in 2001.
I crashed my van. Short while later, my husband has an accident with his car and it is in the shop for weeks. He uses a company truck to get around and I stay home with kiddies as penance.
Mr. Ujest was insanely busy that summer ( until September 11th…and the aftermath of that.) and from January until above date, he worked 7 days a week, 12 -18 hours a day. The man was a machine.
I really needed to get a car before preschool started. It’s 9 miles to school one way. I can’t walk or bike that twice a day…not without puking up a lung.
He took a Friday night off and we drove to every car lot in our neck of the woods and a few in another county looking at used cars in our price range. Everything is closed. By midnight, I was exhausted from all the car looking. The kids were great, but gahhh.
The next night, we looked at at least 20 more dealerships ( YAY for being the Motor City to the World!) and no dealership was open. You just wrote down the make and model you were interested in and you’d get a call on monday to discuss particulars.
Well, I filled out a few little slips because on a varity of lots there were a few I was interested in. But, being that Mr. Ujest was not pleased with anything he was seeing and I wasn’t getting overly orgasmic over anything either, we decided to peruse the classifieds in the East Side ( middle to lower class people who put the $ into their car and not their hair cuts, if you follow my generalization.) and found at the first ad the van that would be mine until just a few weeks ago. Bought and paid for it on the spot and I was happy and it was a great van. Couldn’t be happier. I got my new wheels for the price we were willing to pay and my husband could go back to working like a robot.
Anywhooo, on Monday I get the phone calls from the various sorts of dealerships that I left notes in their mailbox system thingie they have.
I was polite to them all and said I had bought one already off a private owner but thanks for the call back. No worries.
One guy I asked, " Hey, why is it that dealerships are not open on weekends? You are missing alot of prospective buyers…blah blah blah…"
He said, " We like to spend time with our familys…(blah blah ) 50 hours a week is a hard work week."
I, if you can imagine, dropped the Sarcasm Bomb, " Oh man, that’s rough. My husband works from 4am until midnight 7 days a week on his feet and you can barely sit on your ass for 50…wah wah wah…"
I’ve never yelled at someone like that before, but, it was a carsalesman, so I don’t think it counts. Are they human?
I still think about that conversation whenever I drive by that place and want to drive my truck through their front window just out of pure malice.
50 hour work week is too hard. BAH!
Sorry, where were we?