Hollywood Man

Detroit and Tokyo have one thing in common: they don’t understand car salesmen, and they don’t have a clue as to how cars are really sold. You see, selling cars is a mystery to most people who have college degrees, and since the factories don’t hire car men as consultants, a mystery it will always remain. The factories maintain a state of plausible denial, forever pretending that the world of a car man—the real world of a car man—is something that doesn’t happen.

Over the years, I’ve had to sleep—sorry, I mean sit—through many factory sales training courses. These courses are usually in the form of videos since the factory has learned they are better off not confronting us directly. No, they don’t have the balls to do that!

These videos portray the Hollywood version of a car salesman. By this I don’t mean the “Used Cars” version, or the completely ridiculous “Cadillac Man” and other movies that malign our business. In this case I’m referring to the version that is what the factory thinks we all should be, a bright eyed thirty-year-old, dressed in a suit and tie, an eager beaver ready to give his all for the company.

This is not to say that car men are not eager. We are, for money. But an experienced salesman concentrates on the most efficient ways to obtain his goals. They do things these videos never show you. Like how to deal with a flake. How to deal with a vampire. How to switch the guy from that new SUV that will earn you a mini, to a used one that will help pay your Visa bill. And the one they will, never, never mention: how to sandbag the desk if need be.

No, the Hollywood salesman has a neat little appointment book. He makes ten cold calls a day and mails out twenty postcards. He goes 100% on every up he encounters, including guys riding bicycles. And at the end of his day, he goes over his prospects with a wise sales manager who looks upon him as a son.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with a good follow-up ethic (something I seem to lack). But making ten cold calls a day? A complete waste of time. I once worked at a place where the sales manager used to tear out pages from the telephone book and hand them out for punishment. There was a near rebellion.

Today, the car salesman is trapped. Trapped by a thing called CSI, and I’m not talking about the TV shows. CSI, Customer Satisfaction Index, is the bane of all car men. You just can’t beat the crap out of the idiot you’re talking to even if he deserves it. Oh, how I miss the good ‘ol days!

There’s nothing to be done about all this. New car salesman will always be required to watch the bullshit handed down by the factory. They will continue to be deluged by information that is marginal at best. They will always have to rely on instinct and trial and error to learn what really sells cars.

Of course, you could listen to me, the Cynical Bastard. Then you’ll really be in trouble!


Talk to you later,



David