The Two Natural Enemies

Car Men have two natural enemies: firemen and real estate agents. Of all the people who might come onto your lot to waste your time these two groups have the highest jack-off potential.

Why, you ask? Let us start with our friends in the real estate business. In a normal economy, real estate brokers and agents think they are the top dogs of all the sales professions. When things are going right for them they have a sense of entitlement that makes you want to put a fist in their collective faces. From the moment a broker gets out of her (or his) car you know you are in trouble. She walks like a queen venturing out to review her subjects. Her whole demeanor screams, “You will kiss my ass!” A Car Man’s heart sinks because you suspect you are not going to be making any money on this prospect.

Real estate people only want the top of the line. Only the best for me! All the whistles and bells. Nothing left out. Like a classic vampire she wants all the information you can give her and more, the tone of her voice commanding you to do so. Every attempt at a trial close is met with a raised eyebrow and a sneer of contempt. “Don’t try and close me!” the sneer says. “Show me how those seats work! Demonstrate the navigation system (she just has to have navigation!).” Then, the very long test-drive, the conversation sprinkled with hints about how well she is doing. “You should be very jealous of me,” her voice suggests.

This is all well and good. I mean it is your job as a Car Man to give a proper presentation of the product. The aggravating part is what happens when you get back to the dealership. Invariably she will not want to come into your office. She wants to make an offer right there and now, and usually it is the offer from Hell.

Each Car Man handles these situations in their own way. A green pea will run to get his closer. Some will try and reason with the idiot standing before them. “Please come to my office. I’m sure we can work something out,” he pleads in vain. It is a battle over control; she knows it, you know it, and she is not going to budge.

Over the years I have developed my own unique way of handling these situations. It was born out of trial and error. If I had any brains I would patent it. You might want to underline this part because it is so good. If she demands a price without making a commitment to buy, look at her coolly and say with as much sincerity you can muster, “No.”

You see it comes down to time management. Do you want to spend the next two hours of your life negotiating with this asshole just to end up with nothing or the cruelest cut of all, a mini-commission on a $50,000 car? I mean, hell, what is in it for you?

Sometimes the greatest satisfaction you can have as salesmen is brooming an idiot off the lot. They rarely see it coming. Her attitude is, “I’m a real estate broker for God’s sake. I’m better than you! Can’t you see that?”

Sometimes saying no is better than sex.

These days are a little different, I suppose. The real estate business is a bust. The broker that bought the Cadillac Escalade is now driving a used Mercury Grand Marquis. Their business has become the equivalent of a junk bond—at least for now. It is sad, but as the saying goes, payback is a bitch.

Will lightening strike me if I dare criticize firefighters? Just as a precaution, I am writing this in a lead-walled underground bunker. I am wearing special insulated wingtips left over from my days as a new car sales manager. One thing I have learned about the car business, you cannot be too cautious.

He arrives on the lot usually driving a truck or SUV. You know it is a firefighter because they always have one of those little fire helmet decals on the back window. I have often pondered the meaning of those decals. Maybe it is so that when they pull up at a stoplight they are hoping someone will stop beside them, jester them to roll down their window, and thank them for their unwavering service to the community. As for a Car Man the sight of that sticker is a hint you should probably run the other way.

He parks and gets out. He is in his thirties. He is wearing his sacred NYFD tee shirt--his secret pass to picking up girls and getting a good deal on cars and big screen televisions. Or sometimes he has a wife with him, a large-breasted woman with big hair who, even though she has three kids, would never own anything as practical as a mini-van. He opens the door to the showroom and loudly calls out the magic words: “Anyone here want to sell a car?”

The salesmen step back looking like deer caught in the headlights for they know that in the entire history of the automobile business no one who has ever uttered that particular incantation has ever bought a car. And if spoken by a firefighter it is a double whammy. Silence fills the showroom. All competition to get the next customer is gone.

“I believe you’re up next, Jim,” Bill says to his fellow salesman.

“No, no, I just had one, my friend,” Jim replies graciously “This one is all yours.”

“Go find the green pea--quick!“ Bill says.

Green peas really do serve a purpose other than going on coffee runs to Starbucks. Waiting on a firefighter is part of their on-the-job training. Sort of like when a rookie fireman enters his first burning building. But it will not take long for the green pea to discover that this wonderful “up” the older guys have magnanimously given him is the proverbial “UP FROM HELL”!

Why are firefighters such a waste of time? Over the years I have developed several theories. Part of it is the hero complexes they all appear to have. I am convinced that when a firefighter looks in a mirror he sees himself wearing a blue cape, red boots and the letter “S“ on his chest. And he assumes you see it too—or at least you should. Also, with a work schedule that is usually twenty-four hours on, twenty-four hours off, he has plenty of time to look at car magazines and visit his local auto mall.

Either way these gallant public servants have a sense of entitlement that can drive a Car Man mad. To add insult to injury they all seem to know of a retired firefighter that is now giving away cars (oops! I meant to say selling cars) at some dealership three hundred miles away. They are going to go down there tomorrow to take delivery unless, of course, you will match the deal.

Another mini-commission. Lucky me.


Talk to you later,


David