Car Salesman or Dried Up Dog Turd . . . eh, Same Thing

The new car, or rather, new truck bug bit Hubby about a week ago. Apparently it is contagious because I came down with it bad this past Friday.

As luck would have it we were going to Dallas/Fort Worth to visit family anyway so hey! the metroplex is a veritable cornucopia for the new car buyer. Like the saying goes, "Swing a dead cat in Dallas and you're gonna hit a lawyer or a car salesman."

I won't go into all the impractical reasons for my choice but I decided that I needed, yes needed, a heavy duty 4 wheel drive truck. And not just any truck, mind you. I wanted the big bad boy with the alloy wheels and leather interior. Have I mentioned Hubby is in law enforcement, as in bottom of the food chain paychecks? Anyhoo, while I had my little country gal heart set on a truck that cost (literally) more than our house, Hubby had to swing his skills of diplomacy into high gear. Once all the hair pulling, eye scratching and high pitched crying had stopped and I was able to settle him down, Hubby talked me into a new truck with somewhat less testosterone than I was initially going for.

Then it was time to make the deal. I am not s****ing you when I say I would rather have my nose hairs plucked ONE AT A TIME than deal with a car salesman, and his manager, and his manager's manager, et al. (Ever notice how no matter who you're talking to, they always say - "Let me get my manager." What up wid dat?)

I guess what made me such a high-strung buyer this time was that we had lined up our financing last week. We applied for a low interest loan for the specific amount we were willing to spend and were approved. That means we were essentially paying cash for the new truck since our trade in was (almost) a wash with its current payoff and current trade in value. You would think that it would be pretty simple:

Me: I want that one!
Hubby: It's yours. (to saleman) How much?
Salesman: How much you willing to pay?
Me: Just the price, a**hole!
Salesman: Let me get my manager.
Hubby: (to me) Let me handle this.
Me: I want THAT one!
Manager: Find one you liked, huh? Well, we've got some incentives and rebates and discounts so you're probably looking at about X dollars for this one.
Me: Fine, then we'll take X dollars on our trade-in.
Hubby: (to me) I'll handle this. (to manager) We'll take X dollars on our trade-in.
Manager: Well, I don't know if we'll be able to give you that much but we can try to come close.
Hubby: N.A.D.A. says ours is worth X dollars.
Manager: Well, we go by the dealer NADA book.
Hubby: As opposed to the FAKE one I looked at?
Manager: Well, no, er, let me get my manager.
Me: I want THAT one!
Manager #2: Hi folks! Find one you like? Let's make a deal!
Me: Hey, Monty Hall, just give us our trade value and we'll write a check for this one right now and be outta here.
Hubby: (to me) I'll handle this. (to Manager #2) Yeah, we'll write a check.
Manager #2: Well, folks, I don't know, y'know. I mean, what with all the rebates and discounts and incentives and the moon being in Aquarius . . .
Me: . . . and you being full of bull--
Hubby: (to me) I'll handle this. (to Manager #2) Enough of the bulls***. Do you want to sell this truck or not?!

(I could go on and on paraphrasing the conversation with the various and sundry salesmen and their various and sundry managers which took - I am not kidding you - about 3 hours. But I wager you get the gist of it.)

We pulled into the dealership at 9:15 a.m. We left the dealership at 12:45 p.m.

Salesmen, Managers, et al: (watching me drive off the lot in my new truck with Hubby in the passenger seat) Poor bastard, he's definitely taking one for the team. Better him than one of us. I'd rather be a car salesman than have to put up with that bitch! HAR HAR HAR HAR