I had a long theraputic rant all typed in here detailing the story of my current disappointment regarding Raceway Ford, the car of my dreams, how I took delivery of it, and they made me take it back. They were ruuuude, the General Manager was ruuude, and they were festering pustules of infected evil on the syphilitic dick of humanity.
And then the hamsters ate it when I tried to preview. I hate them.
So does that mean we get to fill in the blanks? Okay…
It was a dark and stormy night. Faruiza was in desperate need of a new car. Through the efforts of their classy commercials, Raceway Ford won the hard-earned money of our hero. But then, the unthinkable happened…
. . . it was recalled because the heater motor was powered by illegal alien hamsters. . . .
*Not to be swayed, our plucky hero tried again. Then, she saw it! The car that was made for her, and her alone! She caressed the hood, she played with the power windows, she took it for a test drive. This was the one. This one had rolled off the assembly line, looking for Faruiza. And Faruiza had found it.
With a last glance at her new baby, our hero walked into the dealership to speak with the salesperson, who told her…*
*You can’t have that one.
What?
You can’t have that one, someone reserved it six months ago, and they might walk in any minute and buy it.*
Ah…ok. Didn’t realize anyone would really give a shit about the story…I don’t know what I was thinking.
Night before last, I was on my way home on the train from L.A. when husband called and told me that I needed to meet him. So I go where he tells me and it’s a car dealership. Raceway Ford over in Riverside. The sweet guy was surprising me with a car. It’s a suuuper thing to do considering the other night we were watching TV, and some luxury car commercial comes on where one spouse drags the other blindfolded into the driveway to see that they have a new $50,000.00 present waiting for them, and I said, “What the hell? Do people actually DO this? Middle class people can’t do this…who are they targeting with this tripe? You couldn’t do that without me knowing about it, I mean, really!” Well, it wasn’t a luxury car, but it was perfect to me, and I was reaaaaly happy. Turns out, the only reason he wanted me to meet him at the car place instead of surprising me in the driveway at home was because he didn’t know how our registration for our trade was made out, and didn’t know if he could sign it over himself. I think it was such a neat thing for him to do in spite of what happened next.
Now, we have some credit problems, but we’re not total roaches, and since I had worked in the car business for some time on the sales line as well as in management (albeit quite a few years ago) I know a few things about how the sales process works. Apparently, before signing anything, my husband wanted to make our credit problems abundantly clear. They HAD the credit report in front of them. He said, “You know, maybe I’ll just not take delivery tonight, and I’ll come get it when you actually have the deal bought with the lender. I don’t want to put my wife through the disappointment if she sees it and can’t have it. She doesn’t even have to know I tried.” The sales manager and the finance desk guy both assured him that we meet the criteria, that there will be no problem and not to worry! It would all be just fiiiine!
So. I show up, get crazy excited at the prospect of owning what I consider to be the most bitchin’ machine on the planet, take delivery and float home.
Round about 11:00 AM yesterday, the dealership calls up and tells us, we couldn’t get it financed. Bring it back. You can’t have it. :eek:
I spazzed for the rest of that day at work, and the long train ride home, and went to the dealership straight away. I asked my husband if the General Manager was there like they told him he would be, and he said, no. They say he left. So I go to the front desk and ask for him by name. Since they don’t know who I am, guess who comes right out to talk to me? In my most polite sticky sweet voice and smile, I shake his hand and tell him who I am and that I’m bringing the car back. He badly feigns ignorance of why, so I tell him that the finance director said I had to, and explained the story we were told. I said, “I’m really confused and upset that there doesn’t seem to be a way to work this out. I’ve worked this business, and there’s almost ALWAYS a way to get a deal bought, even with much worse credit than mine, so why would the finance manager not want to work with me?”
I went on to explain that I work for company ABC, Int’l, (a super large construction company in the same area who’s President of California ops I am the assistant of) and that we do TONS of business with them what with buying trucks and servicing our equipment there, and that was the reason my husband went there, and I just couldn’t believe that there wasn’t an alternative to try out. The man TURNED HIS BACK ON ME AND WALKED AWAY. He walked up to some cat on the sales floor, pointed at me, said, "Show her the deal,) and KEPT WALKING.
The finance guy he passed me off to said I’d gotten turned down by a few banks, so that was the end of that, and where were the keys? So, after a lengthy try at getting someone to give a shit, in humiliation, I took the stuff out of the new one, put it back in my old one, handed over the keys and went home. Dejected.
Look. It’s not the car I’m upset about and I know that it could be worse, and that I should thank dog I have a job, that there are children starving in China, but for fuck’s sake. I’m disappointed. I’m not handling it well. I’m sad. I didn’t enjoy being treated like we were. There’s the story.
I still hate 'em. 
Heh. On second thought. Your story might be shorter and better. 
Holy crap, no wonder you’re upset! I would be, too. I’m getting mad on your behalf, in fact! heh
Yeah, so it didn’t work out, which is a shame, but that man had no right to just dismiss you like that.
Just make sure everyone you know hears about the shoddy treatment you received. It might make them hesitant to do business with them. I would be hesitant if you told me that story, because I would wonder if I would be perceived as an inconvenience, too. And when you’re talking about that kind of money, and the complexity involved with buying something this major, that does matter.
I’m sorry, Faruiza. Can you get financing from your bank prior to you walking into the dealership? Wouldn’t it be nice to drive back to Raceway in your brand new car and shove it in the GM’s face?
Let’s see if we can write the next chapter of this little saga…
Faruiza and her husband walk into their Friendly Neighborhood Bank. The loan officer strews rose petals in their path, seats them in his office and immediately serves them lattes and biscottis. A few taps on his computer, then he turns and says…
snort I hate to do this to the next chapter of the story, but yeah. We tried that. We belong to a credit union, and they need even better credit to work with than your average vehicle houses. So, blah.
Thanks for the backup, though I’m grateful for it. I know material stuff is a petty thing to get this twisted about, which pisses me off further to know that I shouldn’t be this pissed off. A vicious cycle, I tells ya.
The good news is that I have a big mouth when it comes to being ticked off, and everybody in earshot is going to know not to go there. In fact, I’m waiting for our equipment manager to come back as we speak so’s I can see if maybe I can persuade him to buy our trucks and service ANYWHERE else. I just wish right now that the free market would work in my favor for once, so this shitbag can see what happens when you lose thousands of dollars worth of business as a direct result of being a shitbag.
As for going somewhere else, yeah. I know I could. But I wanted THIS car, and I don’t even want to deal with it anymore. I’ll just drive what I have until it’s done.
The dealers call it “spotting”. The dealer NEVER wants to send you away without the vehicle in your possesion. If he does, you may change your mind and not come back. So, instead, they “spot” you the car while they try to arrange financing - setting you up for the emotional fallout if no financing comes through. The dealer risks nothing more than a few extra miles on the odometer. It’s perfectly legal, but that does not make it any more palatable.
Perhaps some revenge would make it better? I suggest sneaking onto the lot at night and plastering all the showroom windows with panty liners. Add a big, colorful cardboard sign that says “These may help with your spotting problem”. Judicious use of ketchup can only add to the effect.
I think I might just pay you to do this and take pictures, Faruiza.
The very thought of this makes me grin like a lunatic. No doubt I WANT to do it, but if it’s one thing the Paris Hiltons of the world have taught me…NEVER do ANYTHING on film!
Would it have helped if you’d copied it to clipboard before you previewed?
Ouch.
When I bought my much-loved car nearly five years ago (she will finally be paid off in May…CAN’T FRIGGIN’ WAIT) they offered it to me, several times, before the paperwork was complete and everything had gone through. I didn’t take it; I’d already fallen for her hard enough I didn’t want to have her taken away from me.
Ouch indeed. I can imagine.
Bummer, OP. Hope it turns out better than so far.
*“Please don’t kill me!”
Faruiza grins a little half smile and glances at her husband. He relunctantly nods at her, closes his eyes and sighs, a look of foreboding on his face.
The doors to the office swing shut of their own accord and the lights flicker for a good twenty before going off completely. The room is not dark, though, for an eerie purplish glow eminates from Faruiza. She extends her hand towards the petrified finance manager and makes a squeezing gesture with her hand.
The finance manager’s face becomes a mask of sheer terror as he feels his throat constricting, cutting off the very breath of life from him.
But, Faruiza has decided not to kill him just yet. Like a cat with a mouse, she decides to play with her prey. Loosening her supernatural grip, she says…*
*“Do not underestimate the power of the force.” She loosens her grasp just a bit, then smiles sweetly into the face of the loan officer.
“Now, at what percentage was that loan again?”*